CinderMarty
by Flaming Trails
Summary: A Futurefied Classic. After the death of his parents, Marty McFly found himself at the mercy of his evil stepfamily, the Tannens. But fortunately for him, a royal ball reveals he has a little magic in his life...
1. Chapter 1

Cinder-Marty

A Futurified Classic

By Flaming Trails

Chapter 1

_Once Upon a Time. . . ._

May 13th

Hill Valley

4:45 P.M.

_Knock, knock._ "Master Martin?"

Marty McFly paused mid-chord on his guitar. "Did someone say my name?"

"It's me, William. May I come in?"

"Oh, hey Will." Marty went over and opened the door of the conservatory. "Yeah, you can come in. What's up?"

William bowed. "It's nearing five o'clock, Master Martin. You will be expected home for dinner shortly. I thought you should know."

"Whoa, it's that late already?" Marty checked his pocket watch. "Jeez!" He looked over at his friend, shrugging apologetically. "Sorry, Crispin, I gotta go."

"It's all right, Marty," Crispin said, shrugging back. "I have to get ready for dinner myself. I'll see you later."

"Yeah, see you later." Marty packed up his guitar, then followed William to the front entrance. Lady Needles was waiting for them. "Do give my regards to your mother," she said as William fetched Marty's coat. "I imagine it's been very hard on her lately, what with your father being so ill."

Marty nodded. "It has been tough. But we're getting along okay."

"Hey, the big M! How's it hanging, McFly?"

Marty somehow suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. "Hey Needles," he said with a sigh as Lady Needles's elder son, Douglas, came up behind her. "I'm on my way out the door."

"Oh, too bad. I would have liked to beat you at another horse race."

Marty smirked. "The only reason you win at those is because you always take the fastest horses."

"Nah, it's because I'm just better than you."

"Douglas, enough," Lady Needles said, giving her son a look. "Go wash up for supper."

"Yes, Mom. See ya later, McFly."

"Bye," Marty said with a half wave. "Have a good evening, Lady Needles."

"Thank you, the same to you."

Marty grinned, then headed out the door. William was already waiting for him with the carriage. Marty got in as William took his place at the reins. "I hope you weren't too bored while you were waiting for me," Marty said as they set off.

"Oh, no, Master Martin. Arthur and I played a few games of cards."

"Who won?"

"In the end it was a tie. He beat me at poker, but I won our game of whist."

"Ahh. Well, break even's better than nothing."

"Indeed, sir."

They made their way through the cobbled streets of Hill Valley. It was a quiet evening, with only a few people on the streets. Everyone nodded respectfully as the carriage passed. Marty nodded back, smiling. It was good to be the son of the most powerful family in town. Even if most people couldn't pronounce their title. Marty rolled his eyes a bit. Why hadn't the royal family made them dukes or barons? Why did it have to be a marquis?

Well, it was a minor complaint, really. All that really mattered was that he had a loving family, the respect of the town, and money enough to keep him and his future kids well off for a long time. He sighed happily and leaned back against the padded seat. _This is the life_.

_BANG_!

Marty jolted back upright, looking left and right. "What the hell?" he gasped.

William chuckled. "Just Emmett Brown again, Master Martin," he said, pointing over to the local blacksmith's shop. "No doubt one of his inventions has exploded again."

"Oh." Marty looked over at the shop, breathing easier. He should have known. Brown was famous for his inventions in town. Most of them seemed to not work correctly or blow up after a while, but the man persevered. Marty was honestly not sure what to make of the guy. Word around town was that he was crazy, and some of the town children made a game out of pulling pranks on him. On the other hand, Seamus McFly had trusted him with the family horses throughout Marty's life. And Marty hadn't know his father to make a bad decision about a person yet.

He shook his head. Brown wasn't really a problem. Right now, all he cared about was getting home, having dinner, and checking up on his dad. Marty felt a brief stab of worry as he sank back into the cushions again. _I hope he's gotten better and not worse. I mean, there's not much worse he can get. Unless – no, McFly. Don't think like that._

After a few more minutes, they arrived at the McFly family mansion. Marty hopped out of the carriage while the Bobs – Robert Zemeckis and Robert Gale, the family's head stablemen – came to collect the horses. "Hello, Master Martin!" Gale said with a grin. "Have a good afternoon?"

"Yeah, it was a blast. You guys?"

"We've been keeping busy," Zemeckis smiled.

Marty nodded and headed up to the house proper. The butler was waiting and opened the door for him. "Welcome home, Master Martin."

"Thanks, Neil." Marty handed Neil his coat and wiped his feet. "Where's Mom?"

"She should be in the kitchen with the cook, I believe."

"Thanks." Marty headed over to the kitchen. Sure enough, his mother was there, talking to the cook about dinner. "Hey, Mom."

Maggie McFly turned at her son's voice. "Oh, hello Marty," she said warmly, giving him a kiss on the cheek. "Did you have a good time with Crispin?"

"Yeah, we worked on a couple of new songs together. How are you?"

"Fine. Spent most of the day reading."

Marty nodded, then frowned. "And – how's Dad?" he asked, voice quiet.

Maggie looked at the floor. "He's not doing so well," she admitted. "The doctors have tried just about everything, but-" She stopped and shook her head. "He's resting right now."

Marty grimaced. "Do – do you think-"

"We can talk more over supper," Maggie said, cutting him off. "Go and wash up."

"Yes, Mom." Marty left the kitchen, worry stabbing at his insides. His father had been sick for almost a month now. The doctors had determined it was some sort of wasting disease, but a cure seemed to be beyond them. If they'd really done all they could. . . . Marty blinked back tears. He didn't want his father to die. Seamus was one of the kindest, most patient men in Hill Valley, and Marty loved him very much. _Please, Dad, hang on. . . ._

He headed to his bedroom to drop off his guitar, then to the washroom to get cleaned up for dinner. The meal turned out to be roast rabbit – Marty felt another pang as he looked at his plate. Rabbit was one of his father's favorites. They ate in silence, only occasionally asking each other for salt and pepper.

After they were done eating, Maggie took a plate to Seamus. Marty insisted on tagging along, eager to see how his father was doing. "It's not good," Maggie warned him as they reached the bedroom where Seamus was sequestered. "I don't want you upsetting him."

"I'll be good," Marty promised. "I – I just miss him, Mom. I haven't really gotten a chance to see him in forever, what with the doctors always around and hustling me out."

Maggie nodded, face softening. "I know, Marty." She cracked open the door and peered inside. "Seamus?"

"Oh, hello, Maggie. Just had a bit of a nap."

Maggie smiled, though her lips trembled a bit. "I brought you your supper. Marty's here to see you as well."

"Good, good! Come in."

Maggie opened the door the rest of the way. Marty couldn't quite hide his start as he saw his father. Seamus was lying propped up on the pillows, face sallow, flesh hanging off his absurdly skinny frame. He was a far cry from the man who had once enjoyed helping his men in the field with the crops and had hunted his own food.

Seamus gave him a weak grin. "I could stand to gain a little weight, aye?"

Marty managed to smile back. "You've looked better, yeah."

"Are you comfortable, dear?" Maggie asked, fussing with the pillows.

"Yes – the doctors and the servants have been very good at checking in on me." Seamus coughed. "Though my throat's a bit dry at the moment."

Maggie promptly handed him a cup of milk. Seamus took it with a shaking hand and took a few small sips. Marty felt a faint burning behind his eyes and quickly swallowed back the threatening lump in his throat. "They haven't been poking and prodding you too much, have they?" he asked, trying to lighten the mood a bit.

Seamus laughed, a crackly sound. "They've done their fair share, to be certain." He looked Marty up and down as Maggie fed him bits of rabbit. "Your birthday's coming up soon, isn't it?"

"About a month, yeah," Marty confirmed. "I'm hoping that this growth spurt I've been hearing so much about makes it."

Both Seamus and Maggie chuckled at that. "Don't worry, dear," Maggie said, patting Marty's hand. "Even if it doesn't, there's no shame in being short."

"Tell that to the village boys," Marty grumbled.

Seamus frowned. "Are you being picked on, lad?"

"Not really," Marty said, looking a little embarrassed. "I mean, they tease me a little when they think they can get away with it. I think they're afraid of doing more because I'm the future Marquis. Not that I've been lording it over them or anything," he added hastily.

"Well, I don't want you to bully people with your position, but don't be ashamed of it either," Seamus said, between bites of rabbit. "We came by the title of Marquis honestly." He smiled warmly at his son. "I know you'll do it justice when you take over."

Marty smiled back, though the burning behind his eyes got hotter. _Shit, Dad, don't talk about succession now! Not when you're_ – He stopped the thought right there, not wanting to break down. "Thanks, Dad."

There was a brief silence. "So, how are things going with Crispin and this band you're hoping to set up?" Seamus finally asked, finishing his meal.

Marty's eyes lit up. "Oh, great! Crispin's fantastic on his piano. We were working on some new songs today – I think we've got a great new sound. Still haven't come up with a name, though."

Maggie frowned a bit, pursing her lips. "I think you spend a little too much time with him and that guitar of yours. You need to focus on your studies."

"Leave him alone, Maggie," Seamus said, pausing to cough again. "It's good that he has something he loves. Besides, this town isn't that hard to run. If he wants to follow his music, let him."

Maggie looked dubious. "Whoever heard of a Marquis who was also a bard?"

"King Parker is said to love music. He might approve."

"I'm not saying I'd give up on running the town, Mom," Marty said. "I just – I really love to play. Maybe I could give concerts and stuff in my free time."

Seamus smiled. "Well, you won't have to worry about that for-"

He was interrupted by the worst coughing fit yet. The hair on the back of Marty's neck stood up. "Dad?"

"Seamus?" Maggie whispered, leaning over her husband with wide, fearful eyes.

Seamus finally caught his breath. "I – I'm afraid I might not be around for your birthday, Marty," he wheezed, pale.

"No! No, Dad, don't talk like that," Marty said, leaning forward and catching his father's hand. "You're gonna make it! I know you will!"

Seamus's breathing was weakening. "I'd love to, believe me. But you can't run away from the truth."

Marty felt his lower lip start to quiver and quickly bit down on it. _No, no. . . ._ "Please, Dad – hang on for – for a little longer. Just a little while. Please?"

"I'll ring for the doctor," Maggie said, starting to get up.

"No," Seamus said, with startling strength. He gasped, the continued. "You know there's – there's nothing they can do."

Maggie reluctantly sat back down, her eyes growing watery. "Oh, Seamus. . . ."

Seamus managed an upward twitch of the lips, even has his breathing faded away. "It'll be all right, Maggie. You can handle Hill Valley – you always have. And Marty-" He weakly squeezed his son's hand. "I know you'll go far, do great things. You'll be a credit to the name McFly."

Marty couldn't hold back the tears anymore. "I love you, Dad," he whispered, voice cracking.

"I love you too."

Maggie kissed her husband, sniffling. "I love you, Seamus. Goodbye."

"I love you, Maggie. Goodbye. . . ."

Two minutes later, Seamus George McFly, Marquis of Hill Valley, was dead, leaving Maggie and Marty to cry in each other's arms.

* * *

AN: A quick note of explanation – George and Lorraine are appearing in this story, but under different circumstances. Hence the reason for Seamus and Maggie being Marty's parents.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

May 17th

Hill Valley

11:57 A.M.

Marty looked up at the sky from his place on the bench. The day was overcast, with slate grey clouds hanging low overhead. An unseasonably chill wind blew past, nipping at his fingers. All the colors of the park seemed muted and dull, and the smell of imminent rain filled the air. All in all, it was a fairly miserable day.

_Perfect weather for a funeral,_ Marty thought bitterly. His father had just been interred in the McFly family plot. His mother was still at the graveside, talking to mourners. Marty would have been with her, but – after seeing his father lying in that coffin, everyone's sad faces, his mother crying softly – he'd had to get some time alone. There was only so much a guy could take. He sat on his bench and stared hard at the sky, willing himself not to cry again.

A sudden touch on his shoulder made him jump. He turned around to see an unfamiliar woman in a black veil and dress. She looked at Marty sympathetically. "I'm so sorry," she said softly. "I wish I could have helped."

Marty only nodded, not sure what to say. He didn't know the name of everyone who had turned out – Seamus had been a popular Marquis, so practically the entire village was present. But he had recognized most of the faces, at least. This lady was completely new to him. And what did she mean by "could have helped?" Was she a nurse of some sort? "Uh, thanks."

The woman smiled weakly at him and patted his shoulder. "Listen, if there's-"

"Who invited you?"

Marty looked up to see his uncle Dave march up to them, glaring at the woman. The woman straightened, matching Dave's scowl. "I was just trying to offer my condolences. And introduce myself properly."

"Bullshit. You were probably trying to fill his head with nonsense." Dave flapped a hand with her. "Get out of here! Or I'll have someone escort you out of here by force."

The woman made a disgusted noise, but turned to go, shooting Marty one last sad look. Marty watched her leave, then glared at his uncle. "Nice way to act at a funeral, Uncle Dave. She was just trying to be friendly."

"Hey, trust me, you don't want to be hanging around with the likes of her," Dave said, sitting next to Marty. "She's utterly insane. She showed up shortly after you were born, babbling something about the fair folk. If there's anything you don't want to get too caught up in. . . ." He sighed, then slipped an arm around Marty's shoulders and squeezed. "You don't need that stress. Not on a day like today."

Marty nodded. He knew Dave meant well. And after hearing that, the lady did sound a little crazy. He sighed deeply. "Well, even so, she wasn't acting nutty. I don't think you had to threaten her."

Dave shrugged. "Better safe than sorry." He looked over at the crowd, letting out a deep, sad sigh of his own. "I suppose it's good knowing my brother was so well-liked."

"Yeah," Marty said, blinking as he felt the tears threatening again. "I really don't know what I'm going to do without him."

Dave gave Marty another squeeze. "It'll be all right. Seamus wouldn't have wanted you to give up on life. The best thing you could do to honor his memory is be the best person you could ever be."

It sounded trite, but somehow it made him feel a little better. Marty smiled faintly. "Yeah. Thanks, Uncle Dave."

Marty's aunt came up to them then. "How are you, Marty?" she asked, lifting her veil from her face.

"I dunno," Marty said honestly. "Sad, yeah, and kinda numb. How about you, Aunt Linda?"

"About the same," Linda said, sitting down on Marty's other side. "Poor Seamus. I never expected him to be the first to go, even if he was the oldest."

"I know," Dave nodded. "He was always so _healthy_. This completely blindsided me."

"Us too," Marty admitted. "Mom was pretty much in denial he was sick for a while-"

He stopped suddenly, spotting a disturbingly familiar figure talking to his mother. "What the hell – is that Baron Buford Tannen?"

Dave and Linda looked over. "It is! What's he doing here?" Linda asked, wrinkling her nose.

"Probably thought he ought to pay his respects," Dave said, though he sported a grimace.

"_What_ respects? He and Dad loathed each other," Marty said, baffled. "I mean, I don't think Buford likes _anybody_, but I thought he hated our family more than most."

"It's polite to extend condolences, even among enemies," Dave explained.

"He wouldn't know polite if it bit him in the ass!"

"Probably came here to have a secret gloat," Linda snarled. "And to see if there were any pretty women here he could bed. Lecher."

"You're one to talk," Dave said, one eyebrow raised. "Who had three men courting her in her teenage years?"

Linda colored slightly. "At least I had the decency to take them on one at a time! _He'd_ have three women going at once! Not to mention all those visits to the house of ill repute." The color suddenly drained out of her face. "Ugh, you don't suppose he's looking for a date _now_? He did rather fancy Maggie before. . . ."

"Get out of town!" Marty said disbelievingly. "Not even Buford Tannen would be dumb enough to-"

Maggie abruptly slapped Buford and stalked away, scowling. The trio gawked at the scene in shock. "Holy shit, he _was_!" Marty's face started turning red from rage. "That _asshole_! At my father's funeral, no less! I'm gonna-"

"Whoa, Marty, calm down!" Dave said, grabbing Marty's arm as he stood up. "If you get into a fight, Buford will wipe the floor with you!"

"I don't care! If that jackass thinks he can get away with trying to pick up my mother at my father's graveside. . . ." Marty strained against Dave's tight grip. "Damn it, let me go!"

"Marty, Buford never goes anywhere without a pistol strapped to him! I don't want to have to attend your funeral too!"

"What's going on here?"

Maggie hurried over, frowning. "This is hardly the way to be acting at a funeral," she scolded.

"Yeah, well, what Tannen just did is hardly the way to be acting at a funeral either," Marty snapped, still struggling against his uncle.

"Oh, you saw that. . . ." Maggie sighed. "I suppose I'm glad you want to defend my honor, Marty, but don't worry – I have it well in hand." She gave him a slight smile. "I can take care of myself, really."

Marty finally stopped trying to escape, looking sullen. "Yeah, but – at Dad's _grave_. . . ."

"Someone tell me again how he got a barony?" Linda asked, curling her lip at Buford's distant figure.

"It wasn't him, it was one of his ancestors," Dave said. "They could have practiced better breeding. Do I even _want_ to know what he said to you, Maggie?"

"Definitely not. The man's an utter pig, and-" Maggie suddenly started crying. "Oh, I miss Seamus. . . ."

Marty wrapped his arms around his mother, his anger toward Buford temporarily forgotten. "I miss him too, Mom. It's not fair."

"Life isn't fair. I know that, but – still, I'd like to know why him. Poor Seamus. . . ."

"I'll second that," Dave said as he and Linda joined in the hug. "We'll always be here for you, Maggie. You can count on that."

"Thank you kindly," Maggie said, pulling free of everyone's arms and wiping her eyes. "I'm afraid I'm probably going to need it. I overheard my own family talking about my next marriage already. They never quite approved of Seamus, Marquis or no."

Linda threw up her hands. "Does _no one_ have any manners around here?"

"I'm surprised Dad's not spinning in his grave," Marty muttered, looking toward the mound of earth with a sniffle.

Maggie patted his shoulder. "It's all right, Marty. I've had a few words with them. Hopefully they'll quiet down about the whole business."

"They'd better." Marty sighed. "Come on, let's get out of here before someone else does something nasty."

June 9th

Hill Valley

9:41 P.M.

Marty lay on his bed, absently flipping through a book. Although it was getting late, he didn't really feel tired. Yet he was reluctant to get up and actually _do_ anything. It was a vicious cycle.

He sighed and closed the book, feeling depressed. His fifteenth birthday had been today, and while he'd been happy about growing another year older, the whole celebration just served to highlight the fact his father was dead. It just wasn't fair that Seamus wouldn't be around to share any more birthdays with him. That there could even _be_ happy events without him around.

His mother's relatives weren't helping any. They were constantly at Maggie about her newly-widowed status, saying that she needed to get married again soon in order to provide Marty with a new father and the town with a Marquis. Marty was starting to think the McDougals were rather like the Tannens, only with more table manners. _Isn't Mom supposed to wait about a year before getting married again? Do they have no respect for the dead?_

At least it hadn't come up during his birthday celebration. The dinner had actually been a fairly pleasant event, with everyone enjoying themselves. But Marty was quietly certain it was only a matter of time before it was brought up again. He wasn't looking forward to it.

He finally got up off the bed and grabbed his dressing gown. He was bored of staying in his room, with only his depressing thoughts for company. Maybe he could find a snack in the kitchen, or wander down to the servants' quarters and join in a card game. Pulling his robe tight around himself, he headed into the hallway.

As he passed the west drawing room, he heard voices. Curious, he stopped to listen. "Now, Margaret, we know you want to be loyal to Seamus's memory, but be reasonable. An unmarried Marchioness-"

"Can do very well on her own, Rachel. Everyone in this town knows Seamus and I had an equal partnership. They'll accept me."

"How do you know that? I'm certain no one will take you seriously without a husband! That's how it always works for female nobles!"

"Rachel, have you not noticed the heir to the throne of the entire land is a _princess_?"

"Even she has to get married! The king has been introducing her to princes for almost two years now!"

"The king is just desperate for grandchildren," Maggie said in a very clipped tone. "I _have_ an heir. Male, in fact. So there is already a Marquis."

"Yes, there is Martin," another, male, voice agreed. Marty recognized it as his grandfather Brayton's. "And we know any man you marry won't be a proper Marquis. But the fact of the matter is, female nobles are not taken seriously without husbands. But he still needs a male figure in his life. The teenage years are rough ones. He'll need a role model."

"He doesn't seem all that ready for his future duties," a third voice – Grandma Roisin – clucked. "All he seems interested in is that silly little band of his."

"It's not silly," Marty protested, too softly for anyone to hear him.

"Mother, he just turned fifteen. There's plenty of time for him to grow up and assume his duties. I agree that he obsesses a little over his music-" Marty rolled his eyes "– but he's a good boy overall. I can keep him well in line."

There was a sigh from Grandpa Brayton. "So you won't choose another husband, is that it?"

"Not as soon as you hope, no."

"Then I suppose I'll have to choose for you."

Marty's jaw dropped. He'd known his maternal grandparents were kind of traditional, but _arranging a marriage_? He'd never expected that!

Maggie sounded similarly stunned. "What? Choose _for_ me? Father, I – those laws are-"

"Are still on the books, Margaret, even if most people ignore them. I have every right to choose a husband for you. And, as it happens, I've already received an offer for your hand."

"What? From who?"

"Baron Buford Tannen, actually."

"_Buford Tannen_?" Marty gasped, too horrified to keep his voice down.

The room fell silent. Then the door opened to reveal Maggie, looking severe. "I thought you were asleep," she said, voice stern.

"I wasn't tired enough," Marty said, looking past her at his grandfather. "You've got to be kidding me! Buford? You'd make my mother marry _Buford_?"

"He asked," Brayton replied, face impassive. "And he's a fellow noble."

"Barely! Barons are right at the bottom of the ladder, aren't they? Not to mention the guy himself is – well _Buford_!"

"Even so. He's done well for himself on his lands. And he said his own two boys need a mother. It seems like a fortuitous match to me."

"But – Grandfather, he's – have you _met_ him?"

"He's a little uncouth, yes," Grandma Roisin admitted. "We're hoping Margaret can help him in that regard."

"We're not trying to make him replace Seamus, Marty," Rachel said soothingly. "But wouldn't you agree it would be good to have a father again?"

"Not him! Besides, Dad's been gone barely a month! Isn't there supposed to be some sort of mourning period?"

"She doesn't have to get married right this instant! We're talking about in the future."

Marty shook his head. "He'll never be my father," he grumbled. "I don't know how he tricked all of you into thinking he's not a complete asshole-"

"That's enough out of you, young man," Brayton said, cutting the teen off with a glare. "This is a matter between us and your mother."

Maggie nodded, putting a hand on Marty's shoulder. "Come on, Marty, let's go back to your room."

Marty was kind of itching for a fight with his grandfather, but he figured his mother had it bad enough as it was. He allowed himself to be led away, still glaring at his relatives. "They can't _really_ make you marry Buford, can they?" he asked once they were out of earshot.

Maggie sighed. "I don't know," she admitted. "I intend to fight it as much as I can, of course. But if Father's right, and the law is still on the books – I may not have a choice."

Marty groaned. "Holy shit. . . . Can't you at least arrange it so somebody _decent_ asks for your hand? There's _gotta_ be a better choice than Buford around here."

"I'll look into that as Plan B," Maggie said as they reached his room. "Truthfully, if it were up to me, I wouldn't remarry at all. I don't think any man could ever measure up to Seamus in my eyes."

Marty nodded sadly. "Yeah." He hugged his mother tight. "Don't let them boss you around."

"I'll do my best," Maggie promised, kissing his forehead. "Good night."

"Good night, Mom." Marty sighed as his mother headed back down the hall. "Perfect, just _perfect_," he muttered, pulling off his robe. "Grandpa picks a new husband for Mom, and it's Buford the Wonder-Bozo. What the hell is wrong with my relatives?" He flopped down on the bed and looked at the ceiling. "Please, don't let them win this one. If there's any justice in the world, don't let them win."

August 12th

Hill Valley

10:32 A.M.

"Mighty fine place you've got here, Maggie! _Much_ nicer than my old house."

Marty winced as Buford stomped in. "Yeah, really nice place," he continued, grinning and revealing a mouthful of half-rotted, yellowing teeth. "My boys and I will like it fine."

"Wonderful," Maggie said between clenched teeth.

Said boys followed their father in, also looking around appreciatively. The elder son, Biff, whistled. "Great place. We're finally moving up in the world."

Griff noticed Marty looking at them with distaste. "What are you looking at, bojo?"

Marty blinked. "Bojo?" he repeated, baffled.

"He likes making up his own slang," Biff said, rolling his eyes. "But yeah, why don't you do something useful and get the rest of our luggage?"

"That is my _son_, not one of the staff," Maggie said icily.

Biff snorted. "Could've fooled me."

Marty's fists clenched. He didn't know who he wanted dead more – the Tannens or his mother's relatives. _Damn it, why wasn't that stupid law officially repealed ages ago? Grandpa Brayton didn't even give us a chance to find somebody else! He just went ahead and accepted Buford's offer. Shit, I don't want to share my house with these assholes!_ He growled softly to himself. _Damn you, Grandpa Brayton._

He looked over to Maggie, who was standing like someone had fused a metal rod to her spine as Buford sloppily kissed her cheek. He grimaced, making an "eugh" noise. _Poor Mom. I swear, if he does one thing to hurt her. . . ._

The servants finished bringing in the Tannens' luggage. Marty noticed none of them looked any happier about the situation than he did. "Where should we put these, sir?" William asked, looking like he'd just tasted something nasty on the last word.

"Biff and Griff's rooms are in the west wing," Maggie supplied. "One on either side of the public bath. Buford's things-"

"Are going in _our_ bedroom," Buford cut in, leering at her.

"The bedroom _adjoining_ mine," Maggie corrected coldly. "We are not married yet, Mr. Tannen."

"Yeah, but that'll all change tomorrow, won't it?" Buford said smarmily.

"Unfortunately, yes." Maggie sighed deeply as Buford put a possessive arm around her. "Come, I'll show you where to put their things."

"Just a minute – you lot get my horse all right?" Buford demanded.

"Oh, yes sir," William said. "A fine stallion. The Bobs are tending to him in the stables right now."

Buford nodded, eyes hard. "Right. Anything happens to Black Thunder, I take it out of your ass," he warned.

"We'll be careful with him, sir," William promised, going a bit pale. "He does need to be reshod, actually. Shall we take him to the blacksmith?"

"Oh no! Not this town's blacksmith!" Buford growled. "He's a no good lying cheat! Owes me 80 dollars on my last horse!"

"Why?" Marty couldn't help but ask. Brown might be considered an eccentric, but Marty had never heard of him truly harming anyone.

Buford shot Marty a dark look. "My horse threw a shoe. And since he was the one who done the shoeing, I say that makes him responsible!"

Marty frowned, doing the math in his head. "Yeah, but – isn't a shoeing only 20 dollars?"

"Runt, I was _on_ the horse when it threw the shoe! I got throwed off! And _that_ caused me to bust a perfectly good bottle of fine Kentucky Red Eye. The way I figure it, he owes me five dollars for the whiskey, and 75 dollars for the horse."

"The horse?"

"Dad shot it," Biff explained. "He was really pissed off about the whiskey."

"Hey, do you know how hard it is to get a decent bottle of Red Eye these days?" Buford looked back at William. "I'll tell you who to bring him too. Once my girl gives me the grand tour," he added, squeezing Maggie.

"You will address me as Margaret," Maggie hissed.

"Whatever you say, _Margaret_," Buford smirked.

Maggie put a hand to her head. "Let's get you settled," she said, pulling free of Buford's arm and heading down the hall. Buford and Griff followed, barking orders at the servants.

Biff lingered a moment, walking up to Marty. "Hey, McFly! Your shoe's untied," he said, pointing down.

Marty stared blandly at him. "How stupid do you think I am?"

"You're a McFly," Biff replied, shrugging.

"Hey, who has the fancy house and the highest title in the land here?"

Biff smiled cruelly. "Yeah, well, you're sharing it now. Just remember that." He patted Marty's cheek, then followed his father and brother.

Marty fumed. He couldn't believe this was happening. He hated it. He hated that his father had to die. He hated that his maternal relatives were idiots and apparently didn't care about him and his mother. He hated the Tannens, and he really hated the fact that they were in his home! Muttering to himself, he started off in their wake.

Only to trip on a untied shoelace.

He really hated irony too.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

September 7th

Hill Valley

2:21 P.M.

"Hey, McFly!"

Marty kept walking, pretending he didn't hear them. _Maybe if I ignore them for long enough, they'll shut up and go away._

"McFly! Get over here, you low-rez!"

_Just keep moving. . .resist the urge to go over there and pound them flat. . . ._

"McFly, we're talking to you!"

_Remember what Dad always said – don't let them–_

Something hard hit the back of his head. Marty yelped and turned around. Biff and Griff glowered at him. "Listen, bojo," Griff snapped, "if we're talking to you, you stop and listen!"

"What if I don't want to listen to you?" Marty retorted, rubbing his scalp.

"Too bad," Biff said, scowling. "You stop and listen anyway."

Marty sighed deeply. He'd hoped getting out of the house and into town would have given him some relief from these assholes. No such luck, it seemed. "Fine, fine," he muttered. "What do you want?"

"We're going to do some shopping. We need somebody to carry the bags."

Marty clenched his teeth. "How many times do I have to tell you, _I'm not one of the damn servants_?" he growled. "Besides, can't you carry your own damn bags?"

"Why bother when we have people to do it for us?" Biff said, rather snootily. "And since the real servants aren't around, you'll have to do." He snapped his fingers at the teen. "Get your butt over here."

Marty's temper rose. "I'm not a goddamn _dog_ either," he hissed, hands curling into fists. "Don't snap your fingers at me."

"I'll do whatever I want to do to you, shrimp." Biff smirked at him. "Don't you want to help your stepbrothers?"

"Not particularly, no."

Griff snarled at him, coming closer. "No?"

"Yeah, what are you, deaf and stupid? I said no! Now leave me alone," Marty said, turning to go.

Griff suddenly grabbed his arm and pulled him over. "I don't like 'no,'" he said, forming a fist and holding it up to Marty's face. "Now, let's hear the right answer."

"Go to hell!" Marty shot back, pulling free and shoving Griff backwards.

"You want to start something, McFly?" Biff asked, rolling up his sleeves.

Marty glanced over at him. Truth be told, he was itching for a fight. Ever since the Tannens had moved in, his life had rapidly gone downhill. Biff, Griff, and Buford were always trying to push him around, and making fun of his height. Not to mention he had to see Buford slobbering all over his mother all day. . . .

But as usual, whenever the urge to punch their lights out got too strong, all he could think of was his dad warning him about losing his temper. _Don't let anyone goad you into a fight. Stick up for yourself, but you don't want to get turned into hamburger in the process_. _Remember what happened to me brother – got a knife shoved through his belly in Virginia City because he couldn't walk away from a fight_. Given that Marty had been named after said brother, the lesson packed a punch. He sighed and backed up a step. "Just lay off," he said, holding up his hands in what he hoped was a peaceful gesture.

Biff snorted. "What's wrong, McFly? You chicken?"

Marty felt his hands wanting to make fists again. He _hated_ being called chicken. He wasn't quite sure why – maybe it had something to do with how short he was. Or maybe it had to do with the fact that everyone who called him that was generally a complete asshole. All he knew was being called that made him want to slug whoever was closest. "I said lay off," he growled.

"Make me," Biff challenged.

_All right, that's it! He's been asking for this for a month!_ Marty swung, nailing Biff in the jaw. The older boy, not expecting the blow, stumbled backwards, landing on his butt with a bloody lip. Marty couldn't help but smile. Damn, that had felt good.

Of course, he still had to deal with Griff. The other Tannen looked utterly enraged by Marty hitting his brother. Marty's eyes widened as Griff straightened to his full height. He'd never really noticed before how _tall_ the Tannens were. "All right, punk!" Griff yelled, reaching for the teen menacingly.

_Shit! I gotta distract him!_ "Uh – hey! What the hell is that?" Marty yelled, pointing over Griff's shoulder.

It was a dumb trick, but it worked. Griff looked away, frowning in puzzlement. Marty drew back his fist and prepared to smash the other boy's face in.

Griff caught his hand as he swung, forcing it down painfully. He grinned at Marty, who winced. _Okay, that didn't work out as well as I hoped. Time to get dirty._ He promptly kneed Griff in the balls.

Griff groaned deep in his throat from pain and released him. Marty wasted no time in making tracks. _This is what I should have done the first time,_ he thought bitterly. _Sorry, Dad._

He glanced behind him. Biff and Griff were back on their feet, looking very pissed off. Griff snapped a large branch off a nearby tree and started after Marty, swinging it. Biff followed, yelling epithets. Marty let out a soft yelp and poured on the speed. There was at least one advantage to being small – he was pretty fast when he wanted to be. He just hoped it was enough!

They tore through the streets of Hill Valley, dodging startled pedestrians and the occasional carriage. Marty had hoped to lose them early on, but the Tannens were relentless, shoving people out of the way as they kept on Marty's tail. Marty could see them starting to gain on him as he tired. _Damn. I need a place to hide,_ he thought, beginning to wheeze. _But where?_

He spotted Brown's blacksmith shop up ahead. The Tannens wouldn't dare follow him in there, would they? He glanced back again. Biff and Griff were getting really close now, murder in their eyes. He'd have to chance it. As they passed the shop, he veered hard left.

The move seemed to surprise the Tannens, who tripped over each other as they tried to follow. Marty took advantage of their confusion to duck inside the shop. Pulling the heavy door closed, he took a minute to catch his breath and look around. The shop was basically one large, airy room, with a large anvil in the middle, the forge next to that, and a line of stables against the far wall. There were lots of racks of various tools set up – some Marty recognized, some he didn't. There was also a long table to the right, covered in paper and bits of clockwork, and with an old apron hanging over one end. Marty quickly ducked under it, pulling his knees close to his chest. It was a bit of a stupid hiding place, but it was the best one he could think of. _If only they don't look too hard. . . ._

The door burst open as Biff and Griff stormed in. "All right, McFly, where are you?" Griff roared, brandishing his tree branch.

"Come on, butthead! Let's have it out! Right here, right now!" Biff added, fists at the ready.

Marty heard another door behind him open and a dog start barking. "What are you two boys doing in my shop?" a male voice said. Marty figured that had to be Brown.

"Screw off, looney," Biff replied.

"As I just mentioned, this is _my_ shop." Marty saw Brown's feet walk by the table. "Let me guess. Your father sent you to vandalize the place."

"No, we're looking for that low-rez McFly," Griff said. "That lobo slugged us both, and we want to return the favor." He slapped the tree branch against his other hand, making a sickening smack.

"Uh-huh. Well, you'll have to continue your hunt later. Get out of my store."

"Not until we have McFly."

Marty's vision was suddenly filled by the muzzle of a large, shaggy dog. Marty bit down on his yelp of surprise as the dog sniffed him. "Be quiet, okay boy?" he whispered.

The dog snuffled him a bit more, then began licking his face. Marty grinned a little. "Thanks."

"I'm sure you'll find other opportunities to beat up your stepbrother," Brown said, walking past the table. Marty heard a cupboard being opened. "I'll ask you one last time – please vacate my premises."

"Listen, Brown, we-"

Biff suddenly paused. "What the hell kind of gun is that?" he asked, sounding surprised – and just a touch scared.

"I call it the Terminator," Brown replied coolly. "Has four modes of fire – bullets, nails, broken glass, and shiny new dimes. And the telescopic sight means I can shoot the fleas off a dog's back at 500 yards. Now, are you going to leave my shop quietly? Or would you like a personal demonstration?"

Biff and Griff grumbled, but turned around and left. Brown closed the door behind them. "Yes, those hooligans are exactly what we needed in the noble classes," he muttered with a sigh. "Einstein, what are you doing under there?"

Marty managed to get the dog off him enough to see Brown's head pop under the table. He was rather surprised to see that Brown was an older man, with white hair and wrinkles. He looked to be at least 50. His dark brown eyes held a spark that belied his physical age, but it was still a shock to a kid who had expected someone a lot younger.

Brown examined him for a moment. Then his mouth quirked upward into a small smile. "I assume you go by McFly?"

"Usually Marty, but yeah," Marty admitted, feeling a little embarrassed. "Sorry about hiding in your shop, I just didn't have anywhere else to go."

"It's all right, I can't blame you for wanting to get away from them as fast as possible." Brown grinned. "And I rather liked the opportunity to show off the Terminator. Now that they're gone, though, want to come out from under there?"

Marty crawled back out, fending off another lick attack from Einstein. Brown offered him a hand up. "Are you okay?" he asked as Marty brushed himself off. "I noticed one of them was carrying a fairly heavy tree branch. . . ."

"I'm fine," Marty said, wiping the dog spit off his face. "He didn't pick that up until after I started running. Your dog really seems to like me."

Brown chuckled. "Yes, he's quite friendly. I originally bought him as a watchdog, but I don't think he's quite suited to the role." He ruffled Einstein's fur affectionately.

Marty chuckled too. "Yeah. Anyway, sorry again for luring those jackasses in here."

"Oh, they probably would have come around eventually anyway, to try and wreck the place," Brown said, shooting a nasty look at the door. "Hopefully seeing the Terminator will make them think twice about coming back." He motioned at the table.

Marty looked where he was indicating. There was a huge gun on the table, with four barrels in a circle attached to the stock and what looked like a miniature telescope set above them. Marty whistled. "That's it?"

"That's it," Brown nodded.

"Wow. That's one hell of a gun."

"Took me a full fortnight to construct it," Brown said, with a hint of pride.

"I can bet." He looked at the blacksmith. "You ever shoot anybody with it?"

"No," Brown admitted. "It's mostly for the scare value. Do you have any idea how hard it is to load?"

Marty looked back at the four barrels. "I might have an idea, yeah." He shook his head. "I guess I'd better get going. Thanks for not turning me over to the Tannens."

Brown smiled. "Like I was going to sacrifice the son of one of my best customers."

Marty winced at that. "Yeah, I don't think that's gonna last with Buford Tannen in charge." He frowned at Brown. "Did you really tick him off? I thought people who did that didn't generally survive."

"He's made threats," Brown admitted, looking a little uncomfortable. "Fortunately, my services are somewhat essential to this community's continued functioning, so people were willing to stand up for me in this case." Brown glanced outside. "Though I try to stay on the alert – I wouldn't put it past him to try and eliminate me via more underhanded tactics."

Marty nodded. "I hear ya. The entire Tannen family is a bunch of jackasses. I'd like to punch whoever had the bright idea of giving them a title."

Brown chuckled. "If it were me, I would have gone into hiding for just that reason." He turned serious again as he looked at Marty. "I knew your father pretty well. I'm very sorry about what happened."

"Thanks," Marty said. "Dad always liked the work you did with the horses."

Brown grinned. "He must have – his tips were phenomenal."

Marty laughed. "Yeah. I gotta admit, I always wondered what this place looked like on the inside."

Brown blinked a few times. "Really?"

"Yeah! Uh, not to wreck it," Marty added hastily. "I just wanted to see if it was anything like the townspeople said it was. There's about fifty million rumors about you floating around town, you know."

Brown nodded. "So I hear. I can tell you right now, kid, most of them are bullshit."

"I figured," Marty said, looking around the shop again. "This place looks pretty normal to me." His eyes fell on the pieces of clockwork again. "Though, what's that stuff?"

"The timer to my breakfast-maker," Brown said. "I've had to make some serious readjustments to it. Recently the timing has gotten all out of synch. I'm getting rather sick of finding my eggs on the floor and my toast undertoasted."

Now it was Marty's turn to blink in confusion. He'd known most of the poorer residents didn't have chefs to prepare meals, but he'd never heard of anyone building a _machine_ to do the job. "Breakfast maker?"

"Let me show you." Brown led the way over to another door on the back wall. "Be careful where you step," he warned as he opened it. "I'm not the neatest housekeeper."

Marty stared. Past the door was Brown's living quarters. They consisted mostly of another big room, with the kitchen area closest to the door and the bed the farthest away. Another door near the bed led to what had to be the bathroom. The rest of the room was filled with near-innumerable pieces of machinery, some completed, some not. Some of it looked almost-recognizable, but most of it was completely alien to the teen. "Holy shit!"

Brown grinned, apparently pleased by the stunned expression on Marty's face. "Impressed?"

"Yeah, wow." Marty cautiously touched a large cylindrical device sitting near the door. "What's this?"

"It's a machine to clean carpets," Brown explained, showing Marty a large hose attached to the cylinder. "It works on the principles of suction. It's a little unwieldy right now, but I'm working on streamlining the design."

Marty nodded – then his attention was drawn to a huge machine that took up almost half the wall in the kitchen. It was an eclectic mix of gears, flywheels, nuts, bolts, and what looked like little cubby holes peppered all over the front. "What the hell is that?"

"Oh, that's–"

A whistle mounted on the machine suddenly blew. Marty jumped backwards, pressing a hand to his chest. "What? What's happening?"

"It's ready!" Brown grabbed one of the flywheels, grinning widely. "Marty, could you take the other one? Please?"

A little nervously, Marty grabbed the handle on the other wheel. "Good! Now turn it all the way to the left! All the way around!"

Marty started turning, slowly at first, then faster as it became apparent the machine wasn't going to do anything to him. After about a minute, Brown held up his hand. "All right, that's good!" he announced, stopping his own flywheel and jogging over to a nearby spout.

Marty joined him as the blacksmith pulled a lever. A blast of cold air issued from the pipe. Brown grabbed a nearby bowl and held it underneath. Moments later, a couple of small cubes of ice tumbled out. Brown picked up a nearby beaker filled with brown liquid and dropped the cubes in with a pair of tongs. "Iced tea?" he cheerfully offered, swirling it a bit.

"No, thanks." Marty stared at the machine in renewed fascination as Brown took a long swallow. "It makes ice? We have to chip it off big blocks in our cold room."

Brown nodded, wiping his mouth. "The whole machine is something like the condensed version of a cold room. I keep foods that need to stay chilled in these compartments." He opened one up to show Marty bottles of milk. "That way, I can buy more and store it without worrying about it going to waste."

"Cool," Marty said with a grin. "Uh, no pun intended," he added with a snicker. "We could use one of these for our house. The cook's always complaining he's gonna get frostbite from our cold room."

"He certainly wouldn't have that complaint with this machine – it produces quite a bit of extra heat during normal operation. It's welcome in the winter, but in the summer. . . ."

"Ugh, I see," Marty said, making a face. "But still, that's pretty awesome. Where'd you learn to make all this neat stuff?"

"University," Brown replied, finishing off his drink. "Though a significant portion was self-taught."

"University?" Marty repeated. "That's only for the rich kids. Your family noble or something?"

"Just very rich. My family was a line of highly successful merchants for years – I broke the pattern by going into the sciences." Brown did a playful bow. "Dr. Emmett Lathrop Brown at your service, Marquis."

Marty laughed a little. "I'm not Marquis yet, but thanks."

"You can pass the sentiment on to your mother. Besides, better you than Buford Tannen."

"Tell me about it," Marty said with a small groan. "He'd probably ruin things in three days. Not even." He brought a hand up to rub the back of his head. "Though. . . ."

Dr. Brown looked at him curiously. "Something the matter?"

"I – I dunno. It's just-" Marty looked at Dr. Brown. "You know how _boring_ all that official Marquis stuff is? I went over some of it with my dad before, and – yeesh! You gotta figure out who to tax what, who owes who, who's arguing with who, and that's even before you gotta play nice with the other nobles so they don't get ideas about stabbing you in the back!" He shook his head. "It's all so complicated and – I have no idea how I'm gonna handle it all once Mom passes over the reigns."

Dr. Brown nodded sympathetically. "I see. I think I can understand how you feel, a bit. Before I became a blacksmith, I taught at university. I wanted to help spread knowledge, feel like I was making a difference in the world. But the job turned out to be mostly paperwork and dealing with the internal bureaucracy. I enjoyed the actual teaching for the most part, but the rest of it wore me down so much I eventually resigned."

"I see," Marty said, frowning. "But – what made you want to become a blacksmith? Isn't that a step down in pay and everything?"

"Oh, not really," Dr. Brown said with a smile. "Yes, I'm not making quite as much as I did before, but I make enough to live on. I'm still doing a necessary and useful job. And the flexible schedule lets me indulge my inventing urges much more freely and efficiently. Teaching never left me much free time at all."

Marty nodded. "Yeah. I kinda wish I could forget the whole Marquis business at times and just go off and be a traveling minstrel or something."

"A budding musician, I take it?" Dr. Brown asked, leaning on his dining table.

"Guitar," Marty replied, almost leaning up against the refrigerator machine but catching himself just in time. "Sing too. I play with a couple of friends of mine. I'm hoping to start a band eventually."

Dr. Brown grinned. "Sounds interesting. So why don't you pursue your interest in music?"

"Well, I can't just abandon my duties, you know. Nobody else to take 'em up. Be kind of hard to play for anybody while I'm managing all the other stuff."

Dr. Brown pointed a finger at the teen. "Maybe, but if you think it through, I'm sure you'd be able to come up with an acceptable compromise," he said firmly. "If you put your mind to it, you can accomplish anything."

"You really think so?"

"I know so. If you're that passionate about your music, you'll work it out."

Marty smiled. "I'll do my best, Dr. Brown." He suddenly blinked a few times, then laughed. "Jesus, when I first ran in here, I never expected to start talking to you like that!"

"Neither did I," Dr. Brown said. "I'm glad, though. You seem like a good kid."

"Thanks. You're a pretty cool guy yourself," Marty replied. "I don't get why everybody calls you crazy."

"Well, not many people take the time to get to know me. And I suppose some of my behavior doesn't help matters." Dr. Brown colored slightly. "I'm sure you've heard the explosions."

"Yeah," Marty said, looking a little embarrassed himself. "What _were_ those?"

"Failed inventions, for the most part. I don't get everything right on the first try. Or the second, or the third. . . ."

Marty snorted. "You sound like me with my math homework." He looked around at all the machinery filling Doc's home. "Looks like you do pretty well for yourself, though."

"Like I said, if you put your mind to it, you can accomplish anything." Dr. Brown stood up straight. "Would you like to see some more of my creations?"

"Sure! I still haven't seen the breakfast maker." Marty frowned. "Though, what about the shop?"

"It's been a fairly slow day," Dr. Brown said, waving a hand dismissively. "I'll be able to hear if anyone comes in." He smiled, a bit awkwardly. "And – well – I rather like having someone to show off to. It gets a little dull, talking to your dog most of the time."

Einstein barked in protest. "Don't think the dog agrees," Marty chuckled. "Well, lead on, Dr. Brown."

"All right. And Marty, you don't have to be so formal in your address of me. I'm perfectly happy being called 'Emmett.'"

Marty looked thoughtful. "I dunno, Doc, I can't really see-"

He stopped. "Hey, wait. Doc. . . ."

Dr. Brown grinned. "That works too."

Marty grinned back. "Okay, then. Give me the grand tour, Doc."

September 7th

Hill Valley

5:49 P.M.

Maggie was waiting in the foyer, arms crossed, when Marty walked in. "Martin, where have you been all afternoon?" she scolded. "I sent William out looking for you, but he couldn't find you anywhere!"

"Sorry, Mom," Marty said. "Biff and Griff chased me into Dr. Brown's blacksmith shop. I got to talking with Doc."

Maggie blinked. "The blacksmith? I never thought you'd be interested in anything he does."

"Yeah, but he's pretty cool," Marty grinned. "You should see all the stuff he's building in his shop! He's got some really incredible machines there – stuff that makes ice, makes breakfast, feeds the dog. . . . And he's got this great music collection. He even plays sax!"

Maggie couldn't help a small smile. "Well, I'm glad you two got alone. But you have to remember to let me know where you are. I don't like worrying about you."

"I'm sorry," Marty said, frowning guiltily. "I just got so caught in looking at what Doc had. . . . I won't let it happen again."

"See that you don't," Maggie said, shaking a finger at him. "As it is, you're not allowed off the estate grounds for the rest of the week."

"Aw, come on, Mom!"

"You break the rules, you get punished," Maggie said firmly. "It's not all that bad. There's plenty to do here."

"Yeah, but-"

"Oh, so the runt finally came home?"

Buford stomped in, scowling. "You're holding up my dinner, boy. Where the hell have you been?"

"With – a friend," Marty said, fidgeting a little. He really didn't want to admit to Buford he'd been hanging out with Doc Brown.

"He's been punished, Buford," Maggie said quickly. "Once he washes his hands, we can start dinner."

"I want whatever gutter-trash he was with punished too! Who is he?" Buford demanded.

Marty mentally winced. _Here come the fireworks. . . ._ "I was with Dr. Brown."

"Dr. Brown – wait, you meant that blacksmith?" Buford started turning red. "You're hanging around that no-good cheating-"

"He is not!" Marty snapped. "Doc's a good guy! He told me the truth about your little horse story – you never even _paid_ him for that shoeing job!"

"Why should I? It was a lousy job!"

"I doubt that," Marty said acidly. "I've seen some of the stuff Doc can do – he's damn smart. I think what happened was that your horse had a lousy rider."

It happened almost before Marty could blink. Buford's hand shot out and cracked him across the face. Marty stumbled backwards and nearly fell down from the force of the blow. "Listen up, you duded-up egg-sucking gutter trash!" Buford roared, hand raised as if to strike again. "If you ever backsass me-"

He was cut off my Maggie slapping him across the face. Buford stared at her in shock. "If you _ever_ raise a hand to my son again," she hissed, sticking a finger in his face, "you and your two horrid sons will find yourself on the streets before five minutes is up! I'll throw you out myself if I have to!"

There was a moment of tense silence. Then Buford huffed and turned around. "Get your ass to the table," he told Marty, before storming back out.

Marty let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "Jesus. For a minute there, I thought he was gonna hit you back."

"I'd like to see him try," Maggie said darkly. Her expression turned to concern as she looked at her son. "Oh, Marty, are you all right?" She took his face in her hands and gently touched the forming bruise. "Perhaps I should call the doctor."

"I don't think he could do much good," Marty said, wincing as Maggie brushed his cheek. "And before you say anything, I _know_ I shouldn't mouth off to him. It's just – he pisses me off _so much_!"

Maggie shook her head. "You are just like your Uncle Martin, God rest his soul. I know he annoys you, but _please_ try to hold your tongue. I don't want you getting seriously hurt." She suddenly pulled Marty into a tight hug, starting to cry. "I love you, Marty. Don't leave me, like Seamus did."

Marty squeezed back, feeling rather guilty now. "I won't, Mom. I love you too." He sniffled a little. "Don't you leave me either."

Maggie pulled back, getting control of herself. "Of course not. If anyone's going to be leaving, it's _them_," she said firmly, nodding toward the dining room. "Damn my relatives. . . ."

"Hey! We're getting hungry in here!" Biff's voice yelled.

"Oh, go ahead and serve them, Mary!" Maggie yelled back. "We'll be in shortly!" She patted Marty's back. "Go get washed up, then after supper we'll see about your face."

"Okay." Marty headed to the nearest bathroom and started washing his hands. The bruise twinged as he looked at in the mirror. _That asshole,_ Marty thought, scowling. _That's gonna hurt for days. Though if he'd hit my mom. . . . She's right, damn her relatives! And the Tannens too!_ He considered that for a moment as he dried up. _Although – if Biff and Griff hadn't chased me into Doc's shop, I probably would have never gotten to meet him. So I guess they're good for something._ He looked back at the bruise. _Damn them anyway._

He patted the bruise with a little cold water in an attempt to soothe it, then headed for the dining room. _At least I've found someone new and cool to hang out with. I get the feeling I'm gonna be at Doc's a lot from now on._

October 26th

Hill Valley

4:24 P.M.

"See ya later, Doc! Thanks for lunch!"

"Goodbye Marty! Good luck with your extended 'family!'"

"Thanks, I'm gonna need it." Marty turned around and started back toward his own house, grinning and humming to himself. He'd spent most of the day with his new friend, watching him work and helping him try to improve his vacuum cleaner. They hadn't really succeeded in anything except getting dirt and grime all over themselves, but neither had cared. The way Doc threw himself into a project, even failure could be fun. _I gotta admit, I kinda owe Biff and Griff,_ Marty thought. _Doc's the coolest guy I know. Wish he'd been my science tutor, I might actually _learned_ something then._ He winced slightly. _Or, better yet, I wish he'd been a possible candidate for Mom's hand._

Thinking about that made Marty feel a little guilty. Over the past month, he'd been spending as much time as possible at Doc's to escape the Tannens. Sometimes, though, he started wondering if he shouldn't stay at home to help keep their attention off his mother. Maggie had assured him she could take care of herself and that she certainly understood his reasons for wanting to escape, but still. . . . He picked up the pace a little, determined to get home earlier today. He owed her that much.

At least things had been going better as of late. The Tannens were still bastards, but Marty was starting to get used to them. He was also getting good at avoiding them, which probably had something to do with the former. They all still insulted him a lot, but none of them had tried to hit him since the incident in September, a fact which Marty was very glad of. _I can't believe we're actually managing to coexist. I think Mom's even starting to enjoy matching wits – if you can call it that – with Buford. Life is really weird sometimes._

He finally reached his house, stomach growling in anticipation of dinner. It was oddly quiet as he opened the front door. Marty frowned. "Hello?" he called. "William? Neil?"

There was no response. Marty stepped inside and looked around. The front hall was completely empty. "Hello?" he tried again. "Anybody here?"

Nothing. Marty felt a prickle of fear go up his spine. The house was never this quiet. Had something happened? "Mom?" He started down the hall toward his mother's bedroom. She spent most of her free time in there these days, doing needlework and avoiding her husband. "Mom, are you home?"

The house remained silent. Feeling really nervous now, Marty opened the bedroom door. Maggie was indeed inside –

lying on her bed, covered in blood. "MOM!"

Marty raced to his mother's side, eyes wide with horror. Maggie's chest was covered in stab wounds. Marty grabbed her hand. Her skin was cold, and he couldn't find a pulse in the wrist. "No. Oh God, no," Marty whispered, eyes filling with tears. "Please, God, no. . .not my mother too. . . ."

Someone chuckled from the shadows. Marty whipped around to see a very smug-looking Buford Tannen appear. "Hello, McFly. Welcome home."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

October 26th

Hill Valley

4:58 P.M.

"You – you – _MURDERER_!"

Marty leapt to his feet and charged at Buford, blind with rage. This asshole had taken his mother from him, and now he was going to pay! He was going to beat him to the bloodiest pulp he could!

Unfortunately, Buford had apparently expected such a reaction. Before Marty could land a single blow, Buford sucker-punched him in the gut. Marty fell to the floor, gasping for air. Buford laughed. "You can't prove nothing, runt. You don't know I killed her."

"Yes I do!" Marty wheezed, clutching his stomach. Damn, that had hurt. "You bastard, you won't. . .you won't get away with this. . . ."

"Oh? Who's gonna turn me in? You?"

"Yeah! And. . .and they'll listen to me because – because I'm the Marquis!"

"Who said you were?"

Marty blinked up at Buford, finally getting his breath back. "What? Of course I'm the new Marquis. Last McFly here." A shudder went up his spine, and he looked back at the floor. _Last McFly. . . . Damn it, Mom, I'm so sorry. . . ._

Buford grinned evilly. "Well, _I_ was your mama's husband. I think that makes _me_ the Marquis now."

Marty suddenly felt very cold. _What? Oh, no, there's no way he could –_ "I don't think it works like that," he snapped, starting to get back to his feet.

Buford whacked him solidly across the face. "It works like that in this house! I ain't taking any more lip from you, McFly!" He smiled again. "Things are gonna be real different around here."

Marty had no doubt of that. "Whatever you've got planned, you're not gonna get away with it," he said, anger burning inside of him. "I won't let you. I'll go straight to Marshall Strickland and-"

"You ain't going anywhere," Buford cut him off. "Not unless I tell ya to. I'll lock you in the house if I gotta."

"Well, what about the servants? You can't possibly silence all of them!"

"Already did," Buford smirked. "Fired 'em all right after you left."

Marty blinked rapidly. "All of them?" he asked, feeling another spike of cold.

"All of them," Buford nodded. "All-" He frowned, thinking. "All. . . . one, two, three, four, five, six – six-"

"All seventeen," Marty supplied, stunned.

"Yeah, that."

Marty looked Buford up and down. "I thought you couldn't live without servants," he said, voice dripping sarcasm. "What's the new Marquis going to do for help?"

Buford smiled an intensely cruel smile. "Depends on how much work you can do, boy."

Marty's jaw dropped. "What – you can't – I'm your stepson!" he blurted.

Buford hit him again. "Don't ever say that again," he snarled. "You ain't no kid of mine. And if I tell you to work, you're gonna work! You've been a lazy good-for-nothing long enough!"

The iciness wrapped around Marty's heart, nearly extinguishing the flames of his fury. He couldn't believe all this was happening. His mother, dead. . .Buford stealing his title. . .and now being told he was going to be a servant in his own home. It was all too much to handle. "You can't do this," he said softly, holding this stomach. "You just can't. . . ."

"I just did," Buford said. "You'd better get moving, runt, there's a lot to do around here."

"I – I can't cook," Marty said automatically, still trying to process it all. "Trust me, if you try and make me, you'll be really disappointed."

"Eh, fine, we'll eat out for a while," Buford grumbled. "Didn't want to hire a new damn chef. . . ."

Marty looked back at his mother's limp body. Tears prickled in his eyes. "I suppose you want me to clean this up," he said sarcastically, though his voice was choked with grief.

"Oh no!" Buford said, instantly suspicious. "I'll do it. You help my boys clean out Biff's new room. Get to it." He turned toward Maggie's body.

"Wait! Can I at least say goodbye?" Marty protested, the tears trickling down his cheeks.

Buford paused, then snorted. "Fine, sissy-boy," he said, stepping back again. "But make it quick."

Marty stepped forward. "I – I'm so sorry, Mom," he whispered, sniffling. "I wish I could have helped you. Believe, if I'd been here. . . ." He ducked his head. "I'm sorry. I hope you're with Dad now. I love you."

There was silence in the room for a moment. Then Marty felt the anger inside him flare up again, twice as hot as before. He rounded on Buford, tears still streaming from his eyes. "_NO_! I'm _not_ letting you get away with this!" he yelled, trying to ignore the crack in his voice. Then he turned and ran from the room, dodging Buford's hands as his "stepfather" tried to grab him.

He raced down the hall, trying to figure out where to go and what to do first. _I gotta get to Marshall Strickland. He'll believe me, he hates the Tannens. He'll know how to make them pay. And then – then I gotta – bury Mom. And find all the servants and rehire them if I can. And – and figure out – damn it, I'm not ready to be the Marquis yet! I'm only 15!_ Marty wiped his eyes to clear them. _Maybe I can convince Uncle Dave to move in and help me out. He's got a good head for this sort of thing. And at least I'll have _some_ family with me_–

Someone's foot was suddenly thrust out in front of him. Marty tried to stop and avoid it, but he was going too fast. He tripped and crashed to the floor. He immediately felt a weight press down hard on his shoulders. "I got him!" Biff's voice yelled.

"Let me go!" Marty snarled, struggling hard against the older boy's grip. "I'm not-"

The rest of his statement was cut off by Biff shoving his face into the carpet. "Face it, McFly," Biff chortled, "you're trapped like a gerbil!"

"Rat," Marty corrected, voice muffled by the carpet.

"Whatever."

Buford walked up to them, smirking. "Good job, Biff," he said, giving the teen a pat on the shoulder. He then kicked Marty in the ribs. "And nice try, runt."

"We own your sorry ass now," Biff said with malicious glee. "And don't you forget it!"

Marty managed to wriggle his head to the side so he wasn't speaking into the carpet. "I'm not letting you win," he said determinedly. "You can't watch me all the time. Sooner or later, I'm gonna get out of here and tell Marshall Strickland. He'll eat you guys for breakfast."

Buford laughed. "You keep thinking that. Like I said, runt, things are gonna be real different around here."

Biff pulled Marty roughly to his feet. "Come on, we need your help cleaning up my new room. You've got a lot of crap, you know."

Marty stopped struggling for a second, stunned. "What – you're taking over my room, too? What the hell is wrong with yours?"

"Nothing," Biff said easily. "I just like yours better."

"So you're going to throw out all_ my_ stuff?" Marty resumed struggling, trying to kick Biff in the nads. "That's destruction of property!"

"You're our servant. Who cares?"

Marty kept wriggling, scowling. He couldn't believe this. He needed his stuff. There were family pictures there, his books, his sheet music – He suddenly went white. "MY GUITAR!"

Marty yanked free of the startled Biff and charged back down the hall. He couldn't let them wreck his guitar! That was – that was his music, that was his passion! And, most importantly, it had been a birthday present from his parents! He couldn't let them throw it away! Not ever!

His room, when he arrived, was a mess, with practically everything he owned strewn all over the floor. A lot of his possessions were broken – clothes ripped, books shredded, pictures shattered. Griff was sitting in the middle of it all, examining Marty's beloved instrument. He glanced up as Marty skidded in. "Hey, McFly," he grinned evilly. "You've got some nice stuff in here."

Marty darted forward and yanked the guitar from Griff's hands. "You're not wrecking this!" he vowed, holding it tight to his chest. "You're not wrecking any more of my stuff!"

"You're one of the staff now! I don't have to take orders from you!" Griff lunged at him.

Marty danced backwards out of reach. "It's still my stuff! Even the servants are allowed to own things!"

"What's the point?" Biff asked, appearing on the scene with Buford. "You're never gonna use any of it again."

"_It's still my stuff!_"

Buford rolled his eyes. "Didn't know you was gonna be such a whining sissy about it. . . Okay, runt, I'll give you five minutes – _five minutes_ – to get what you really want out of here. If I see it again, I trash it. Got it?"

"Got it," Marty nodded, still hugging his guitar protectively.

Buford nodded back. "Then five minutes. Come on, boys."

Grumbling to themselves, Biff and Griff left with their father, leaving Marty alone in the room. He looked at the piles of various things scared around him. How could he choose what to save in just five minutes?

Well, he'd have to concentrate what he knew he couldn't live without. Slinging his guitar over his shoulder, he set to work, searching out what remained of his sheet music, a few favorite books, and as many family pictures as he could find. He sniffled a little as he retrieved one – the frame had been smashed, and the picture underneath ripped, almost beheading his parents. It seemed disturbingly appropriate to his current situation. _Oh, God, tell me this isn't happening. . ._

He got a hold on himself. No time for tears – he had to hide all this stuff before his time was up. Holding everything as tight as he dared, he opened the door and looked around cautiously. Biff, Griff, and Buford were nowhere in sight. He crept out into the hall, staying on high alert. It would be just like one of them to surprise him and grab his things.

Luckily, it appeared they were actually honoring the time limit. Marty sprinted down the hall, heading toward the servants' quarters. The wing had a number of storage closets – just what he needed. Marty chose one at random, dumped his stuff inside, then covered it all with old blankets. _That'll have to do for now,_ he thought, closing the door tight. _I'll move it again later, just in case._

He turned to leave, then paused and looked back. The servants' quarters were dark and silent, a state Marty hadn't ever seen them in before. He felt another wave of sadness crash over him. Not only had he lost his parents, he'd lost a lot of other people who he'd cared about. Who'd he honestly considered friends, for the most part. There was absolutely no one on his side anymore in this house. _Shit. I hope they're all okay. Just being fired like that probably threw a lot of them. What's going to happen to William, or Neil, or the two Bobs, or –_

_or me? What the hell am I supposed to do now? I know I gotta get to Marshall Strickland, but I'm gonna need help. Damn it. . . ._

And then it hit him. _Of course! Doc! I know I can count on him! I just gotta get over to his place, and then he and I can go to Strickland together! Buford can't really keep me locked in the house. I know the place better than he does. _For the first time since he'd come home, Marty felt a flicker of hope in his heart. _Soon as I can, I'll escape to Doc's, and we'll bring these sons of bitches down._

"Hey! Runt!" Buford's voice yelled. "Time's up! Get back here and start working!"

"Right," Marty called back. Steeling himself, he walked back to his room. _I'll get my revenge. Just gotta survive until then._

October 26th

Hill Valley

9:46 P.M.

_Okay, this "surviving" thing might be tougher than I thought._

Marty leaned heavily on a nearby chair, panting a little. He was _exhausted_. The Tannens had kept him busy the entire afternoon, emptying out his room, moving Biff's stuff into the new one, and doing all the cleaning the old servants hadn't gotten to before their dismissal – which turned out to be almost all of it. He'd barely even had time to eat what little dinner the Tannens had thrown his way – mostly leftover pieces of bread. By the time all of it was done, Marty had a new respect for the old staff. _I don't know how the hell they did it all! This house is way, way too big_.

Nevertheless, he was finally done. Wiping the sweat from his face, he started for the servants' quarters, barely caring he wouldn't be sleeping in his own bed. He just wanted to lie down for about five years.

Buford suddenly appeared in front of him. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Uh – to bed?" Marty said. _Oh, Jesus, he can't have thought of something else for me to do!_ "I'm not going to my room, honest, I just-"

"Gutter trash like you don't deserve a real bed," Buford cut him off. "_Especially_ not you."

"Then where the hell am I supposed to sleep?"

In response, Buford grabbed his arm and dragged him back into the living room. He threw Marty onto the rug in front of the fireplace. "There. That should do."

Marty lay there for a moment, stunned. "How am I supposed to sleep like this?" he finally asked, staring back up at Buford.

"You'd better figure out how," Buford said firmly. "Cause I ain't gonna let you sleep on the job."

Marty looked at the still-crackling fire in front of him. "I'm either gonna freeze or cook."

Buford grinned. "Good." He turned and headed out, pausing briefly in the doorway. "Sleep tight, runt. And don't even think about sneaking out. I'll find out." He left, chuckling.

Marty watched him go, then looked up at the ceiling. "Okay, what the _hell_ did I ever do to deserve this?" he demanded. "Seriously. I didn't _kill_ anyone or anything. This is too much!"

Well, he was just going to have to live with it for the moment. He'd be fixing things soon enough. In the meantime, though, he was damned if he was going to let himself freeze. He got himself a pillow and a blanket from one of the couches and made himself a little bed. The hearth rug was still rather hard beneath him, but it was more bearable than before. Marty sighed and closed his eyes, hoping against hope the next day would be better.

October 29th

Hill Valley

2:12 P.M.

"Hurry it up, cinderboy! We've still got lots to do!"

Marty jogged to catch up with Buford, scowling. "I'm moving as fast as I can!"

"That ain't fast enough, runt. And be careful – you drop anything, it comes out of your hide."

Marty grumbled to himself. He and the Tannens were out shopping, picking up essentials. For the Tannens, this seemed to consist of "booze, booze, and more booze." Marty was carrying all of the bags, which were getting very heavy. "How much alcohol can you guys drink?" he muttered as he brought up the rear.

"You'd be surprised," Biff smirked.

Marty just rolled his eyes and sighed. Honestly, heavy bags or not, he was just glad to be out of the house. The Tannens had kept him trapped on the grounds for the past few days as he rearranged the place to be more to their liking. He'd been forced to move all the furniture around and throw away quite a few McFly family heirlooms. Marty winced as he remembered seeing a lot of his old life end up in the trash. It wasn't a fate he'd wish on anyone. Except maybe his "stepfamily." They'd also hired a new butler and cook, both as mean and nasty as the Tannens themselves. Neither one wanted anything to do with Marty. On top of all that, Buford had bought a pack of vicious German Shepherds, who roamed the house at will and chased Marty all over the place. Only quick reflexes and the ability to climb trees had saved him from getting bitten. All in all, life at home was _not_ going well.

"Cinderboy! Stop daydreaming and get over here!" Biff yelled.

"I have a name!" Marty snapped back.

"Cinderboy fits you better," Griff smirked.

Well, Marty had to give them that. The teen had quickly discovered that sleeping in front of the fireplace meant you woke up covered in soot and ashes. And since the Tannens kept him working almost every minute of every day, he had very little chance to get himself cleaned up. As a result, he went around most of the day stained in soot. "Cinderboy" was probably the _kindest_ thing they could call him.

It still amazed Marty that Buford was getting away with all this. Surely the people around them were wondering where Maggie was, or why Marty was filthy and carrying the bags. But no one was saying a word. They just walked on by, barely giving the group a second glance. _Jesus Christ. Am I really that unrecognizable dirty?_

He supposed it didn't matter. He was still going to make Buford pay for what he'd done. All the bastard had to do was turn his back for long enough, and he'd bolt for Doc's. And then this entire nightmare would be over. _Come on, you asshole. . . ._

Suddenly, he saw someone in the crowd he recognized – Crispin Needles and his family. Marty's face lit up. _Hey, maybe I can get them to help too! Lady Needles was friendly enough with Mom, I'm sure she'd give me a hand._ "Hey! Hey, Crispin!" he called, shifting the bags a little so he could wave.

Crispin glanced over, then abruptly averted his eyes, shifting from foot to foot awkwardly. Marty blinked, confused. "Crispin! It's me, Marty! I gotta talk to you!"

"What the hell are you doing now, runt?" Buford demanded, frowning.

"Talking to a friend," Marty shot back, moving forward a few steps. "Crispin!"

Crispin finally turned to look at him. Marty smiled hopefully. "Look, I really-"

"Marty, I'm not allowed to associate with servants," Crispin cut him off, voice soft. "You know that."

Marty felt like he'd been punched in the gut. "What? Crispin, it's me! Marty McFly! The only reason I'm doing these jerks' dirty work is because they forced me to! I need your help!"

"Marty, I can't," Crispin said, shaking his head. "You're too different now."

"Too diff – I'm just a little dirty!" Marty wiped his face off with his free hand. "See? It's still me underneath!"

Needles, standing behind his little brother, snorted. "Little dirty? You look like you just stepped straight out of the fireplace!" He shoved Marty's shoulder. "Go away and leave us alone. Servants shouldn't talk to their betters like they're equals."

"I – I-"

Crispin shook his head again. "Sorry," he said quietly, turning away.

"Hey, Tannen!" Needles yelled with a smirk. "Make sure this idiot learns his place, all right?"

"Sure thing!" Biff yelled back, grinning.

"What – Lady Needles! You have to know I'm Marty!" Marty protested, approaching her.

She looked down her nose at him. "Don't touch me," she snapped, pulling her dress out of his path. "The lower class is not allowed that privilege."

Marty couldn't believe this. One of his friends was just going to abandon him? Just because he'd been forced into serving some asshole? "I thought we were friends!" he protested, looking back at Crispin.

The teen didn't respond, looking pointedly away. Marty made a frustrated noise deep in his throat. "Fine, be like that. Just, please, tell Marshall Strickland to get over to my house right way. Or Doc's place – that would be better."

Needles and Crispin both gave him a strange look. "What rock have you been living under, McFly?" Needles asked. "Marshall Strickland died two days ago. Some desperado gunned him down."

The bottom dropped out of Marty's stomach. Marshall Strickland was dead? He turned to look at Buford. The baron grinned at him maliciously, yellow teeth gleaming. _"Things are gonna be different around here. . . ."_

Marty looked around the throng of people, all pointedly ignoring him. The fight drained out of his body. Buford had killed the one man who had any true power to help him. And Marty was certain the others knew it. No wonder they were ignoring him – they were probably all scared of ending up the same. Knowing that didn't make it hurt any less, though. _Jeez, did – did my other friends even try to talk to me, help me? Or did they all just decide to forget about me too?_

Griff grabbed his arm. "Come on, lobo. We're busy."

Marty followed passively, all thoughts of escape and revenge gone. What was the point, if all his friends had abandoned him? He probably couldn't even count on Doc now – the inventor was on the top of Buford's hit list. Any attempt to help Marty would probably mean the guy's death. He trudged behind the Tannens as they continued shopping, eyes fixed on the ground. _It isn't fair,_ he thought, tears prickling at his eyes. _Everyone I love either leaves me, or dies violently, unnaturally. Why – why go on?_ He briefly lifted his face to the sky. _Please, God, if this is my fate – let me follow Mom and Dad quick._

November 5th

Hill Valley

1:42 P.M.

Going to the McFly estate was something Doc had thought he would never do. Seamus had always brought his horses to the blacksmith personally, and once the Tannens had moved in, Doc had guessed he would be a very unwelcome visitor. Yet here he was, riding in on Archimedes, feeling very worried. He hadn't seen Marty in about a week. That wasn't like the teen. A missed day or two, yes, but a whole week?

_Then again, there was that nasty business with Maggie,_ Doc thought with a wince. He'd heard about Maggie McFly's death while on a job for another lord, and had been utterly gobsmacked. Maggie was known for being one of the toughest noble ladies around. The way she'd been struck down – in her own home, no less – it didn't seem right. In fact, it was rather suspicious. Most everyone knew Maggie and Buford hadn't loved each other, and that Buford was greedy for more power and money. Hell, Marty had complained to him almost daily about it. Add onto that the fact that Marshall Strickland had also been mysteriously killed that same night. . . . _Something is definitely rotten in the state of Denmark,_ Doc thought, eyeing the front door.

He'd delayed coming here, he admitted that. He'd been afraid he'd be chased away at gunpoint. But after not seeing his friend for a week, he had decided to risk it. Granted, Marty could be grieving at home. But Doc couldn't think that the _Tannens_ would be good company for that. No, something was definitely wrong. _Great Scott, I hope nothing has happened to him too,_ he thought worriedly, dismounting and heading up the front steps.

A strange man answered his knock. "Yes?" he asked, voice cold.

"Hello," Doc said, putting on what he hoped was his friendliest smile. "I was hoping I could speak with Martin McFly."

"There is no Martin McFly here."

Doc blinked, puzzled. "Isn't this the estate of the late Lord Seamus and Lady Maggie McFly?" he asked. He didn't think he'd gotten the wrong address, but there was always the chance. This man certainly didn't seem like the butler Marty had described.

The man looked down his nose at Doc – a bit of a feat, since the scientist was taller than him. "This is now the estate of Lord Buford Tannen," he said snootily. "Mr. McFly no longer lives here. He ran away shortly after his mother's unfortunate death."

Doc frowned. The excuse sounded plausible enough, but something about the man's tone didn't ring true. Besides – "Someone told me they saw him in the square-"

"_He ran away_," the man cut him off, voice hard. "Now, Mr. Brown, I am told you are not welcome here. Please remove yourself from the grounds before the masters do so by force."

With that, the man slammed the door in Doc's face. Doc stared at it for a moment, then turned, frowning deeply. Things were not adding up. He _knew_ he'd heard someone mention seeing "the McFly boy" in the town square just the other day. How could Marty be making appearances in town if he'd run away? Not to mention Doc was half-certain that, if Marty _had_ run away, the first place the kid would have run was his house. _Damn it, Marty, where are you?_

As he walked back to his horse, he heard someone curse in the stables. Curious, he went to investigate. A young man was shoveling what seemed a ludicrous amount of hay into a stall, occasionally grumbling to himself and wiping his brow. The boy was covered in soot, sweat, and grime, but Doc recognized him almost immediately. "Marty?"

The teen jumped, then turned around, blue eyes wide with surprise. "Doc?"

They stared at each other for a moment in silence. "I – I was wondering where you were," Doc finally said, taking in Marty's disheveled appearance. "I haven't seen you in a week. I was starting to worry."

"I haven't been able to get out much," Marty replied awkwardly. "It's been a crazy few days, Doc."

"I know. I heard about your mother. I'm so sorry, kid."

"Thanks."

There was an awkward pause as Doc looked around the stables. "Marty – why – shouldn't the servants be doing this?" he finally said, puzzled.

More silence. Then Marty sighed and leaned hard on his rake, looking at the floor. "Doc – I _am_ the servant."

"What?"

"I_ am_ the servant!" Marty repeated, sadness suddenly replaced by anger as he looked up. "That goddamned bastard stole my title! He says that, since he was married to Mom, he gets to be the Marquis! And I'm almost certain that's not how it works but he murdered the only person who could help me and fired all the other servants and replaced them with just a butler and a cook who are complete assholes just like him and I have to do everything else and if I don't do it perfectly he smacks me around or doesn't let me eat and – and none of my old friends will talk to me anymore," Marty said, voice breaking as he ran out of steam. "I know they're probably scared of Buford – that whole 'killed twelve men' thing – but they could at least say hello when they pass me on the street or something. I – I was scared you wouldn't want anything to do with me either, that's why I haven't been over. That and I can barely leave the house with all the work to do."

"Great Scott, Marty. . . ."

"He murdered my mom, I know he did," Marty continued, starting to sniffle. "And scared away everybody else. I've lost everything. . . ."

Doc crossed the room and pulled the teen into a tight embrace. "You haven't," he said softly. "It's okay, Marty. I'm still here. I won't abandon you."

"You might not have a choice," Marty said with a shudder. "Buford-"

"I can take care of myself," Doc reassured him. "I'll start loading the Terminator and getting some better locks. I promise you, Marty, I won't leave. For any reason."

Marty squeezed him hard. "Thanks, Doc. I don't think I could stand it if you were gone too." He suddenly pulled back a bit. "Hey, Doc – can I ask you a favor?"

"Sure."

Marty went into one of the empty stalls and dug in the hay, uncovering a small bag and his guitar. "Can you hold onto this for me?" he asked, holding them out. "Biff and Griff threw out most of my stuff, and Buford got rid of the rest. This is all I was able to save. I'm terrified they're gonna find it one day and wreck it."

"It would be my pleasure," Doc said, taking the items and strapping them over his shoulder. "I'll give them the best care I can."

Marty smiled faintly. "Thanks, Doc. It means a lot to me." He frowned, looking out the stable door. "You'd better get going. Buford might show up soon to yell at me some more."

Doc nodded reluctantly. "Right." He gave Marty another hug. "I'll see you in the future, kid. My door is always open."

"Thanks, Doc." Marty went back to his shoveling while Doc headed back to Archimedes. The scientist shot a glare at the house as he mounted. _Damn it! Maybe I should have brought a gun – I could have tried to use it to help Marty. What Buford Tannen's pulled – it's despicable!_ He sighed. _Unfortunately, I can't do much about it at the moment – challenging Buford directly is too dangerous. I can't be of any help to Marty if I'm dead. And my reputation as an eccentric means. . . . damn, damn damn! Suppose the most I can do at the moment is make sure he has a safe place to stay if he needs it._ He turned his horse around and rode off. _Hopefully someday soon we can right these wrongs. If only time travel were possible. . . ._


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

_Two Years Later. . . ._

October 21st

Hill Valley

6:32 A.M.

WHACK! "Wake up!"

Marty came awake with a jolt. Buford Tannen was standing over him, scowling. As was customary with him, he'd woken Marty with a kick to the ribs. "Cook's working on breakfast, and he needs your help," he said roughly.

"Okay," Marty said, sitting up with a slight wince. "I'll be right there."

"And after that, you gotta sweep up around here, and scrub all the floors, and clean out the kennel and the stables, and-"

"I got it," Marty cut him off. "I do this every day, you know."

Buford just "hmphed" and walked off. Marty sighed and wiped the sleep (along with the soot) out of his eyes. "Yet another day living in paradise," he muttered, getting up.

He took a moment to dust himself off and shake out the hearth rug, then went to the kitchen to help the cook. The cook scolded him for being late before putting him to work watching the bacon so it didn't burn. Marty felt the all too familiar temptation to let it sizzle into cinders, but forced himself to pay attention. The Tannens beat him up enough for no reason. He didn't want to give them an excuse.

He could hardly believe it had been two years. Two years since he'd come home to find his mother murdered. Two years since he'd been turned into a virtual slave in his own home. He barely remembered what it was like, living with a real family. Hell, he barely remembered sleeping in a real bed. His days were all the same now – being kicked awake by Buford, put to work doing all the chores the "marquis" and his two sons could think of, smacked around for their amusement, then collapsing back on the hearth rug at the end. It was a painful, tedious cycle, and Marty hated it.

Sometimes, in his darkest moments, Marty entertained thoughts of suicide. It would be so easy to just stick a knife in his heart and be done with it. But the teen forced himself to carry on. Giving up and killing himself felt, in some way, like he was letting down his parents. For their sake, he was determined to stick it out and one day get his revenge.

He moved the bacon around the pan, making sure it cooked evenly, then dumped it onto a plate once it was done. The cook, assembling the breakfasts, grimaced at it as Marty brought it over. "Too brown! My genius is crippled with the likes of you around!"

"Sorry," Marty muttered, rolling his eyes.

The cook smacked him upside the head. "Show some respect for your elders!" He positioned the bacon on the plates, still grumbling. "Children these days. . . ."

"Hey, I'm 17!" Marty protested.

"Even so!" The cook shoved the completed plates into Marty's hands. "Take these out to the masters! And offer my sincerest apologies for your incompetence."

"Of course," Marty said sarcastically. Balancing the plates carefully in his arms, he headed into the dining room.

As usual, only Buford was there. "The boys are having breakfast in bed," he told Marty. "You got my food?"

"Right here," Marty said, setting down the leftmost plate cautiously.

Buford sniffed at it. "Hmph. You goofed up the bacon again, didn't you?"

"So I hear," Marty said, wondering how Buford would even notice. From what he'd seen, the man practically inhaled his food. "The cook apologies on my behalf."

Buford glared at him. "Can't apologize for yourself, runt?"

"All right, I'm sorry your _precious_ bacon has to be cooked by the likes of me."

Buford harrumped, giving Marty a small kick in the shins. "Go serve the boys. And heaven help you if you drop those plates, runt."

Marty nodded, and carried the remaining plates out. So far, it was just the usual morning routine. _Which means Tom should be ready to try and trip me soon. Wonder what he's gonna do today._

He soon found out – as he headed down the hall to the bedrooms, Tom almost leaped out from behind one of the statues, straight in front of him. "Martin!"

Marty didn't even bat an eye – or, more importantly, jiggle a plate. "What is it, Tom?" he asked calmly.

Tom frowned, upset he hadn't managed to make Marty drop anything. "Remember to feed the dogs once you're done with the masters," he said snootily, nose in the air.

"I won't forget," Marty said, rolling his eyes. _Why am I always stuck feeding those sons of bitches? And the dogs are annoying too._

"Good." Tom strode up the hall, deliberately jogging Marty's elbow as he passed. Marty, used to such tactics by now, easily kept control of his plates. Sticking out his tongue at Tom's back, he entered Griff's bedroom.

The younger of his "stepbrothers" was still asleep, hanging half off his bed, covers tossed every which way. Marty set his plates on a side table, then looked Griff over. An evil smile appeared on his face. He knew _just_ how to wake this Tannen. Picking up a corner of the sheet wound around Griff, he gave it a tug.

Sure enough, the small shift in balance was enough to send Griff tumbling to the ground. Marty quickly dropped the sheet and stepped back as Griff woke up cursing. "Good morning," he said blandly.

Griff looked up at him and frowned suspiciously. "You do this, you lobo?" he demanded, untangling himself.

Marty shook his head, all innocence. "Nope. You just rolled over one too many times." Griff kept frowning at him. "Honest! You really think I could push you out of bed?"

Griff shook his head, though he still looked a little suspicious. "Whatever. You have my breakfast?"

"Right here," Marty said, handing him a plate. "Your father's complained about the bacon already, so don't bother."

Griff snorted and grabbed the plate. "Bojo. Come back and make my bed once I'm done," he said, settling back on the mattress.

"Right." Marty took the final plate and headed for Biff's room.

Biff, surprisingly, was awake and, even more surprisingly, reading a book. Marty stopped and blinked in shock. _Wha – okay, that's new,_ he thought, approaching cautiously. _I thought he might not know _how_ to read_. "Biff?"

Biff looked up. Now that he was closer, Marty could see that the cover was one of those penny dreadfuls, the kind full of violence and sex. That was much more par for the course for Biff. "Hey, McFly," he grinned, marking his page and setting the book aside. "You got my breakfast?"

"Yeah," Marty said, handing him the plate with a slight frown. Biff was almost never this pleasant when he woke up. Although it was nice not to be insulted, Marty couldn't help but think the older boy was planning something. But what?

Biff put the plate on his lap. "Looks great. Give my compliments to the chef."

"Sure thing." Marty eyed him a little. "Anything else I can do for you?"

"Nah. Just go do your other chores, I'll ring if I need ya." Biff started eating.

Marty nodded, and headed for the door. _Huh. That was weird. Maybe his girly book put him in a better–_

There was the distinct muffled crash of a plate of food hitting carpet. Marty turned to see Biff smirking at him, his breakfast splattered beside his bed. "Oops," Biff said insincerely.

_Check that. Still an asshole._

October 21st

Hill Valley

2:37 P.M.

"Runt! Get in here!"

Marty winced. Buford didn't sound happy in the least. _Shit. Wonder what I did this time,_ he thought, finishing his polishing job on Buford's favorite gun. _You know, besides existing._ With a feeling of dread, he entered the study. "Yes?"

Buford scowled at him. "I gotta send you into town," he grumbled. "I got boots that gotta be picked up from the cobbler."

Marty brightened, relieved. Going into town was really the only break time he had. "Oh, okay. Do you have the money?"

Buford handed him a few notes. "That should do it. If it don't, tell him he can take it up with me and my guns."

"Right," Marty nodded, feeling a pang of sympathy for the poor cobbler. The money was never enough, but nobody dared argue with Buford's pistols.

"All right, get going. Straight here and back, you understand?"

"Yeah," Marty nodded. Buford glared at him a moment more, then turned away, going back to oiling up his rifle.

Marty left the room, grabbed his coat from the front hall, then headed outside. He paused on the front step and took a deep breath of fresh air. Even if he was running an errand for Buford, it felt good to get out of the house. Whistling a tune he'd been working on in his head, he headed to town.

The main square of Hill Valley seemed busier than usual when he arrived. A lot of people were around, crowding around the lampposts and certain storefronts. Most were whispering to each other, looking excited. Marty frowned, curious. "Hey, what's all the fuss about?" he asked a passing man.

"There's a royal ball coming up," the man replied, grinning. "The proclamations just went out!"

"Royal ball?" Interested despite himself, Marty went over to one of the lampposts and pushed his way to the front of the crowd. There was an official-looking piece of parchment tacked to it:

_ROYAL PROCLAMATION_

_The royal family shall be hosting a grand masquerade ball in honor of the Princess Jennifer on Halloween. The ball is open to all who would like to attend at the princess's request. Costumes and masks are required to attend. The ball will begin promptly at 6:00 P.M. We look forward to seeing you all._

_(Signed)_

_His Majesty Robert James Parker_

Marty stared at the paper, disbelieving. Everyone's _welcome? Does that mean servants too? Oh, man, that would be great! Go out and get a chance to have some fun like old times. Not to mention meet the royal family! Wonder if the princess is as pretty as everyone says she is. . . ._ Suddenly excited, he tore the paper from the post (to the protests of a few people) and ran over to Doc's.

The scientist was making horseshoes when Marty burst in. "Marty! Good to see you," he said, looking up briefly. "What's got you so excited?"

"The royals are throwing a party! And the proclamation says _everybody's_ welcome!" Marty thrust the paper under Doc's nose. "See?"

"Marty, this isn't the best time," Doc pointed out.

"Oh, yeah, sorry," Marty said, drawing it back. "But isn't that cool? Most of the nobles around here would faint at the idea of inviting the common people to a ball. Trust me, I know."

Doc nodded, giving the current shoe a few last pounds with his hammer. "The royal family is very progressive in that respect." He dropped the shoe in a bucket of water, where it sizzled for a moment. "Though that doesn't quite explain your excitement."

"Well, if everybody's invited, maybe I can go!"

Doc frowned, looking dubious. "Would the Tannens allow you to attend?"

Marty frowned back. He hadn't really thought of that. "I dunno. It's worth a shot though, right?" He hopped up on a nearby table. "I mean, even if I have to wait on them all night long, at least I'll get out of the house. I'm going crazy in there, Doc. I'm sick of spending almost every moment cleaning some part of it." He shook his head. "We have way too many rooms in that place."

Doc half-smiled. "I can certainly understand the need to get away from your 'family' for a while."

"Definitely," Marty nodded. "And who knows, I might get a chance to slip away and dance with some pretty girl." He smirked. "It's a masquerade, you know. I could even flirt with the princess if I wanted."

"Marty!"

Marty snickered. "Aw, come on, Doc! A guy can dream, right?"

Doc shook his head good-naturedly. "It was just that lecherous smile you had. . . . Well, I hope it works out for you."

"Me too." Marty examined the parchment. "Are you gonna go, Doc?"

"Probably not," Doc admitted, retrieving the cooled horseshoe. "I was never one for big parties. I'd rather stay home with a good book."

"Not even interested in meeting the royal family?"

Doc shrugged. "Well. . . I can't deny it would be good for business, at least, but would the royal family even bother with an old blacksmith like me?"

"You never know," Marty said with a small smile. "Would be weird if you did and they did and you ended up Mr. Important."

Doc frowned. "I don't think I'd be suited for noble life – ah, no offense," he added hastily.

"It's okay, Doc. I complained too, remember?" Marty grimaced and looked at the floor. "Jeez, I must have looked like one hell of a spoiled brat."

"Not really," Doc said reassuringly, putting away the horseshoe. "Even the best life has its low points. And your family didn't act half as bad as some of the nobles I've met."

"I guess." Marty scowled, looking back up. "You know what really pisses me off still? None of my old friends even _look_ at me anymore. I haven't heard a thing from any of them in two years. This whole shitty situation would have been a lot easier to take if I'd still had my friends." He slapped a hand against the wood. "Even a fricking 'hello' when I pass them in the street would be nice. I guess I was only worth talking to when I had my title."

Doc went over and patted the teen's back. "Adversity can sometimes bring out the worst in people. I'm sorry it was so for them. I promise _I_ won't abandon you, at least."

"Thanks, Doc. I really appreciate it." Looking up at his best friend, Marty suddenly felt a stab of fear. He and Doc had so far kept Buford at bay – the gunslinger was unaware that Marty snuck off for a few minutes on each trip into town to see the blacksmith – but how long could that last? Would he one day sneak in for a visit, only to see Doc dead in a pool of his own blood, just like his mother? He didn't think he'd be able to stand it if that happened.

Doc must have seen the flash of fright in his face, as he pulled Marty into a hug. "It's okay," he said soothingly. "I keep the Terminator loaded at all times now, and Einstein can warn me if there's any danger. I'm not going to leave you like that either."

Einstein, watching from his bed in the corner, barked his agreement. Marty smiled. "I know, Doc. I just – I can't help but be scared sometimes."

"After the experiences you've gone through, I'm not surprised." Doc patted Marty's back again. "But trust me on this. Buford is not going to add me to his collection of dead bodies."

"Thanks." Marty pulled away and hopped off the table. "I guess I'd better get going. If I want any chance of going to this party, I gotta stay on Buford's good side."

"Right," Doc nodded. "Good luck, Marty. I'll see you later."

"Bye, Doc." Marty left his friend's shop and headed to the cobbler. He picked up and paid for Buford's boots, then headed back for home, fingers crossed tightly.

Buford, Biff, and Griff were outside when he arrived, exercising the dogs. The German Shepherds caught wind of Marty first, barking and growling angrily. Marty stopped, making sure to keep a good distance between him and the pack. He'd been bitten before, and had no desire to repeat the experience.

"Settle down, you dumb mutts!" Buford snapped, whacking a few until they fell silent, though they kept their teeth bared at the teen. "You took an awfully long time, runt. You didn't go visit that damn blacksmith, did ya? I told you, if I ever catch you around that shop again-"

"No, that wasn't what held me up," Marty said smoothly, pulling out the proclamation. "These were all over the town square. Thought you might want to see what it was."

Buford yanked the paper out of Marty's hand and looked at it. One eyebrow rose. "Hmmm."

"What is it, Dad?" Biff asked, he and Griff peering over Buford's shoulder.

"Seems the royal family's holding a shindig on Halloween," Buford told them, grinning. "One of those costume dealies."

"Really?" Biff wrestled the paper away from Buford and looked himself. "Hey, and it's for the princess!" A smarmy grin appeared on his face. "Well, we're gonna have to go to this. I wouldn't want to deny Her Majesty a date with the best-looking guy in all of Hill Valley."

"Who said _you_ were the best-looking guy in Hill Valley?" Griff said, elbowing his brother.

"The mirror," Biff shot back. "We're going, right Dad?"

"Don't see why not," Buford said. "I like parties as much as the next person."

"I'm going too, right?"

The Tannens turned to look at Marty. "You?" Buford repeated.

"The proclamation _does_ say _everyone's_ invited," Marty pointed out.

"I'm sure they didn't mean cinder-boys, lobo," Griff said nastily.

"Who said we were gonna let you come with us?" Biff snapped.

"Come on!" Marty pleaded. 'I'll play manservant if I have to. And I know I'll have to."

"We don't want you stinking up the joint," Biff said superiorly.

"I wouldn't if you let me bathe more often!" Marty shot back, before getting control of his temper. He took a deep breath, willing himself to calm down. "Please, I want to go. I'm going stir-crazy around here."

Buford snorted. "Nothing doing, runt. I don't want any servant of mine getting airs and thinking he can chat with his betters."

Marty's eyes narrowed. "Oh, yeah. I mean, someone might recognize me and realize that 'I ran away' story you fed to everyone outside of town is bullshit. Then it would be all over for you, huh?"

Buford grabbed his arm and leaned into his face. "You even _think_ about showing up at that party," he said, voice low and dangerous, "and you're gonna have to do all your chores one-handed."

Marty felt a jolt of fear. He couldn't let _that_ happen! It would never heal right, and that would be the end of what little guitar-playing he could find. "Okay! Okay! You win!"

Buford smirked. "Damn straight. Don't you get uppity on me, boy – I'm not afraid to bring you back down." He gave Marty's arm a twist before releasing him. "Come on, boys, we gotta figure out what costumes we want." He walked back up to the house, whistling for the dogs to follow.

Biff and Griff lingered a moment. "Pretty full of yourself, ain't you McFly?" Biff said.

Marty glared at him. "I just wanted to have some fun."

Griff punched him in the ribs. "We don't keep you around so you can have fun!" He smirked, rolling up his sleeves. "I think we need to give you a little lesson on your place in life."

"Boys! Get moving!"

Biff and Griff sighed. "Okay, Dad," Biff called. He looked back at Marty. "We'll be looking for you later," he promised. "Now go clean up the stable."

"Right," Marty muttered. Biff and Griff turned and jogged after their father. "God damn it. . . ."

Marty entered the stable and sat down heavily on a nearby bale of hay. He really should have expected this. The Tannens hated him – why would they let him attend a royal ball? Still, he'd been hoping that maybe, just maybe. . . . He sighed, putting his face in his hands. "My life sucks."

A squeaking from above caught his attention. Marty looked up and smiled. "Hey, George."

A little black mouse scurried down from the rafters, climbing onto Marty's shoulder. The teen had discovered the creature after the cook had found it in the kitchen. Marty had saved it from the cook's wrath and ended up taming it. He'd named it after an old relative known for his timidity – it seemed to suit the little fellow. Marty patted the mouse with a finger. "I'm glad they didn't go vermin hunting in here again. You're the only friend I've got in the house anymore."

George squeaked, rubbing against Marty's hand with his whiskers. "Sorry, I don't have any scraps for you at the moment. I'll try to sneak something out later." He stood up, letting George ride on his shoulder. "First, though, I'd better get this place cleaned up. Those jackasses already promised me one beating – I don't want to risk another."

George made a chittery noise as he crawled from one shoulder to the other. "Yeah, I know I heal fast. Still doesn't mean I want to risk getting _really_ hurt." He looked down at his right arm, frowning thoughtfully. "I mean, I'm still confused about what happened with my wrist two months ago. I could have _sworn_ I heard a snap. . . ." He shrugged. "I guess I should just be grateful it _wasn't_ broken. I don't think I'd get that lucky twice."

George squeaked again. Marty chuckled. "Yeah, yeah, you don't understand a word I'm saying. But I gotta complain to somebody, George." He gently picked up the mouse and set it on the bale of hay he'd been sitting on. "You gnaw on that while I get this place straightened up."

George was only too happy to obey, nibbling on a few seeds still stuck to a stalk. Marty grinned and went to work. _Well, I can look forward to this, at least,_ he consoled himself. _A night off from the Tannens. Though it would still be great to meet the princess one day. I wonder what she's like? And if she'd ever like a guy like me?_


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

October 31st

The Royal Palace

4:23 P.M.

"_How_ many foreign princes did your father invite?"

Princess Jennifer Parker shook her head wearily. "_All_ of them, I think. And I have to dance with every one. I'm going to faint from exhaustion before the night's over."

Lorraine Baines, Jennifer's primary lady-in-waiting, grinned cheekily. "Too bad they all know what you look like. I could have pretended to be you and danced with all of them. Most of them are so handsome!" She sighed dreamily. "Especially the one from Johnson, he has such _gorgeous_ blue eyes. . . ."

Jennifer rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "We have to find you a husband."

"Oh, I'm in no rush. I like looking," Lorraine grinned. "And anyway, I'm certain all those princes are completely dull personality-wise."

"Not quite all," Jennifer said, running her fingers through her hair. "About 80 percent, perhaps. A few of them seem interesting enough. Though I'm not sure I'd want to marry any of them."

"Your father's not going to like that," Lorraine warned. "He's been having fits over the fact you're not betrothed yet."

Jennifer sighed deeply. "I know. I don't see what all the fuss is about. I'm only 17!"

"Yes, but tradition demands you be crowned queen at 18," Lorraine pointed out. "And when _that_ happens, you'll be expected to have a king."

"Yeah, I know," Jennifer admitted. "But – I don't want to be rushed into a marriage. I'd rather marry someone I at least _like_ rather than the first eligible man who comes along. Someone I've had a chance to talk to for a little while." She smiled a bit. "I mean, I'm not denying I might meet someone who makes the sparks fly immediately, but even so. . . ."

Lorraine patted her back. "Well, maybe you'll meet someone at the ball tonight. There's going to be plenty of men there other than the princes."

"A fact you'll take full advantage of, I'm sure."

"I will dance til dawn," Lorraine nodded, grinning widely. "But seriously, Jennifer, it's almost a sure thing you'll meet _someone_ you like there. Everyone in all the major cities is invited, you know. Even the commoners." She frowned a little. "Though your father might not like you falling for one of them. . . ."

"Lorraine, my father's desperate enough to be overjoyed if I announced I wanted to be wed to an eggplant." Both girls giggled. "I hope you're right about me meeting somebody, though. It would be kind of nice to have a boyfriend." Jennifer smiled off into the distance. "Someone to snuggle with, talk with, maybe – eventually – have kids with. . . ."

"Well, if you want to keep the kingdom in your hands, you'll _have_ to do that," Lorraine said with a chuckle. "But I know what you mean. I'd like to have a real sweetheart myself. Flirting with the other servants is fun and all, but – well. . . ." She looked at the ground, suddenly a bit awkward. "I'd kind of like my kids and yours to grow up together."

"Awww." Now it was Jennifer's turn to pat Lorraine on the back. "Maybe we'll both get lucky. You never know."

Lorraine nodded. "I'll keep my fingers crossed."

"Princess?" A young page approached them, bowing low. "The tailors have requested your presence. They need to do the final fitting of your dress."

"Tell them I'll be there in a moment." The page nodded and scurried off. Jennifer looked at Lorraine. "Better get that over with. I hope they've taken some of the puff in the skirt out. I don't know how I'm going to move in it otherwise."

"But it's so pretty!"

"My crown's pretty too, but you know how heavy it is." Jennifer started for the royal tailors' quarters, Lorraine trailing behind. "I sort of wish we were holding a regular ball instead of a masquerade, too. I like to see the faces of the people I'm dancing with."

"I think it adds a sense of mystery," Lorraine said. "Besides, if one of your partners is ugly, you might prefer not looking at his face."

"Lorraine!"

"Well, it's true!"

Jennifer shook her head. "I'm more worried about how the guests might behave if they're masked. I don't want to make more work than necessary for all of you if someone gets out of hand."

Lorraine waved a hand dismissively. "We don't mind – it's our job. And I wouldn't worry, Jennifer. They've all been invited to the royal palace. What kind of people would dare behave badly here?"

October 31st

Hill Valley

4:40 P.M.

"Cinderboy! Get in here!"

Sighing, Marty paused in his polishing for what felt like the 50th time and went over to Biff's bedroom. "_Another_ outfit? Sheesh, my _mother_ didn't spend this much time getting dressed for a ball."

"This isn't the usual sort of ball, though," Biff said, looking over his third costume of the night in the mirror. "This is a _royal_ ball. And the princess has gotta know who she's supposed to dance with." He turned toward Marty. "Well?"

Marty examined the heavily-beaded green outfit with a slight frown. After a moment, he realized it was meant to resemble a lizard. He smirked. "It's you."

Luckily, Biff was too preoccupied to catch what he really meant by that. "Yeah, I thought it was the best too." He pointed to the two discarded costumes and masks, lying haphazardly on his bed. "Put those away, then help me brush my hair."

"Of course," Marty said, heading over. "Ma'am," he added under his breath.

"Hey, cinderboy! I need you!"

"Your brother's using me!" Marty yelled back, folding up a shirt.

"But I need you more, lobo!"

"You do not!" Biff snapped.

"I do too!" Girff appeared in the doorway, the shirt of his rhinoceros costume half-open. "These virused buttons are the worst!"

"Jesus _Christ_, are you people completely helpless?" Marty demanded, stunned. "What the hell did you do before you got me to wait on you hand and foot?"

Biff and Griff glared at him. "You're lucky I don't wanna get blood on my costume," Biff said coldly. "Finish putting away my clothes!"

"No, help me with this stupid shirt!"

"Runt! Why haven't you finished polishing this statue?"

Marty sighed deeply, trying to keep his temper under control. It had been like this all day, with every Tannen pulling him in a different direction. Biff and Griff had kept pulling him away from his regular duties, insisting he had to help them get ready for the ball – often at the same time. Then Buford would come along and yell at him for abandoning his first job. It was driving the teen nuts. "Your sons called for me again!" he yelled.

"I don't give a damn!" Buford snapped, appearing in the doorway behind Griff. "Get back out here and-"

"_I_ need him! This bojoed shirt-"

"What about my clothes?"

"What about my sanity?" Marty demanded.

"Who cares about that?" Biff said dismissively. "Get back to work."

"I would if I knew what the hell I was supposed to do!"

"Put away my clothes!"

"Button my shirt!"

"Finish your polishing!"

Marty groaned. "Which. One. First?"

"You getting smart with us, boy?" Buford demanded, eyes narrowing.

"No, I seriously just want to know what to do first, so you can all get off my back!"

"He's already working for me!" Biff snarled, arms folded.

"But my shirt-" Griff started.

"Oh, FINE!" Marty dropped Biff's clothes and stormed over to Griff. In a few quick motions, he had the shirt buttoned. "_There_! Anything else you need me to do? Wipe your ass for you, maybe?" he growled.

Griff backed up a step, actually looking rather intimidated. "Uh, no."

"_Good_. Now, I'll put _your_ stupid clothes away," he said, rounding on Biff, "and _then_ I'll finish the goddamn polishing! That all right with everyone?"

"Sure," Biff said, startled.

"Fine," Buford grumbled.

"Great. _Thank_ you." Marty returned to folding Biff's clothes, anger quickening his motions. "Idiots."

After a minute of silence, Griff seemed to regain his equilibrium. "He's just jealous we're going to the ball and he isn't," he told his father and brother, smirking.

"Not anymore," Marty said, yanking open Biff's chest of drawers and practically throwing the clothes inside. "It's gonna be heaven to be home alone."

"You still got the rest of your chores to do, runt," Buford reminded him.

"Yeah, but at least I'll be able to get them done without you breathing down my neck."

"You don't care about the gorgeous princess?" Biff mocked. "You don't care that she's gonna fall head over heels for me?"

"Let her. I don't give a shit."

"She's gonna fall in love with _me_, not you," Griff said, glaring at Biff. "_I'm_ gonna be the king."

"You? You can't even talk right! You keep making up shit like 'bojo' and 'lobo!'"

"Yeah, well, at least I don't look like I was hit by a hammer multiple times."

"Yeah, you look like you were run over by a carriage."

"Well, _you-_"

"Stop it!" Buford ordered. "This party starts at six, so we gotta be ready to leave by five. Finish up so we can get out of here." He turned to Marty. "And you, runt – you get back to your polishing!"

"Yes, sir," Marty said sarcastically, slamming the drawer shut. He followed Buford out of the room. "What should I do if one of them calls for me again?"

"Finish what you're doing first, dummy." Buford suddenly slapped him. "You'd better get a hold on that temper of yours. I ain't too fussed about having a bloody costume."

"Right. Sorry," Marty muttered.

Buford just grunted. Marty shook his head and went back to his polishing. A few minutes later, Biff and Griff came out of their rooms, fully suited up. Biff elbowed Marty as they went past. "You'd better learn manners, cinderboy! Your next masters might not be as nice as us!"

Marty was tempted to snap back something nasty, but bit his tongue. Biff and Griff might be in exceptionally good moods, but the teen knew that provoking them too much would only lead to trouble. That slap from Buford had been a good reminder that there was still plenty of things they could do to him without drawing blood, too. He did his best to ignore his snickering "stepbrothers" as they left the room. _Damn it. I'll be so glad when this whole stupid day is over with!_

Luckily, the last twenty minutes of preparations went by without incident. Buford appeared, all set in his costume of what appeared to be some sort of big game hunter. He pointed a finger at Marty. "We'll be back early in the morning. Get all your chores done. Cook's told us he's done for the night, so you're on your own for dinner."

Marty nodded. "Fine with me. Anything else?"

"Set foot in our rooms and you're dead," Biff said.

"And if you get it into your fool head to try and leave the grounds. . . ." Buford started, voice low and dangerous.

"Yeah, I know," Marty said quickly, not particularly wanting to hear the end of that threat. He gave the Tannens a small, sarcastic half-smile. "Have fun."

Griff returned it. "You too."

With that, the Tannens left the house, Biff and Griff once again arguing about which of them was going to claim the heart of the princess. Marty went to the front door and watched the carriage drive away. As soon as it disappeared from sight, he let out a cheer. "_Finally_!"

His first act of freedom was to go to the bathroom and give himself a scrub down. The Tannens hadn't given him a break all day, so it was a relief to finally be able to wash up. He smiled at his freshly-cleaned reflection. "Wow. I almost look like a person again. Imagine that."

He hit the kitchen next, heating up the remains of a pot roast they'd had last night. He savored his dinner – it was rare he was allowed to eat anything this tasty. Next he went ahead and finished sweeping the fireplace hearth and the front steps, wanting to get it out of the way. Finally he made his way down to the stables. George was there, sitting on a saddle and squeaking. Marty patted his head. "Hey, buddy. I got something for ya." He gave George a large bread crust he'd found in the kitchen. George squeaked happily and set to work nibbling it down. "Guess what?" Marty told him as he idly straightened up the tools. "Buford, Biff, and Griff just left for the night! They won't be back until morning! Sweet freedom at last!"

George looked up at him curiously. "They went to a royal ball," Marty explained, sitting on a nearby stack of hay. "The princess is hosting a masquerade. I wanted to go, but Buford wouldn't let me." Marty sighed a little, then tried to smile. "But hey, isn't it enough they're out of my hair for a night?"

George squeaked and went back to nibbling. Marty let his smile drop. "Yeah, who the hell am I kidding? Even with them gone, I've got nothing to do. Nobody to talk to. No offense, George, but you're not the greatest conversationalist."

George didn't pay him any attention. Marty sighed again, and exited the stable, plopping down in front of the door and putting his chin in his hands. "I guess those jackasses were right," he said softly. "I am jealous. I want to get out of here, even if it's only for a night. Go back to being just a regular guy instead of a servant. Screw the title – I'd gladly be a peasant if it meant people would treat me like a person." He felt tears beginning to well up in his eyes and quickly blinked them back. "Course, that'll never happen. I'm gonna be stuck like this for the rest of my life."

"Oh, please don't look so blue. It's really not as bad as all that."

Marty nearly jumped out of his skin. He turned around sharply to see a woman in a purple dress standing to his side. She smiled warmly at him. "Hello again, Marty."

"Um – hi," Marty said slowly, eyeing the woman. She looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn't place her face. "How'd you – do I know you?"

"My name's Clara Clayton," the woman introduced herself. Then, with a slightly cheeky smile, she added, "I'm your fairy godmother."

Marty stared. "My _what_?"

"Fairy godmother. I know, I should have introduced myself years ago, but your mother and father didn't believe I was who I said I was and didn't let me in. Then I tried to contact you at the funeral, but your uncle chased me away. . . ."

Marty kept staring. Fairy godmother? He had thought those things only existed in stories. He looked Clara up and down. She seemed perfectly ordinary to him – a tall woman, with long brown hair and hazel eyes. Her dress did seem unusually sparkly, but that wasn't enough to prove she was supernatural. "Fairy godmother," he repeated, folding his arms and looking her straight in the eye. "You know, I've heard some fairies abduct children and keep them as slaves. Or even eat them."

Clara folded her own arms. "Funny – I've heard some humans do the same thing."

Marty cracked a smile. "Yeah, good point. If you're here to steal me away, I won't put up much of a fight."

"Much as I'd _like_ to steal you away from the Tannens, I'm unfortunately not allowed to. But I _can_ help you make the most of your night off, so to speak." She smiled at him. "Make up for a lot of lost time."

Marty still looked skeptical. "Really. Okay, prove it. Do some magic."

"All right." Clara reached into a pocket on her dress and pulled out a long, knobbly stick. "What would you like to see?"

Marty looked around the yard, thinking. "Turn that bunch of leaves into birds," he finally said, pointing to a nearby tree.

Clara looked. "That clump of three on the end of the long branch?" Marty nodded. "You got it." Clara pointed the stick at the leaves and gave it a little wave. A stream of glittering purple light shot out of the tip, striking the branch. Moments later, the leaves were gone, and three little green birds sat cheeping in their place.

Marty's jaw dropped. "Holy shit!"

Clara grinned, looking a bit smug. "Impressed?"

"I – I – WHERE THE HELL WERE YOU?"

Clara stumbled backwards, taken off guard by the teen's vehemence. Marty shot to his feet, hands balling into fists. "Seriously, where the hell have you _been_?" he demanded, furious. "My life's been a _nightmare_ for the past two years! Both my parents are dead, my relatives all think I've run off to parts unknown, these assholes moved into my house and stole my title – I'm a servant in my own home! I don't even have a _bed_ – they make me sleep on the hearth rug! None of my old friends talk to me anymore, and I'm constantly worried that the one pal I've got left is gonna end up dead too, and – and. . . ." His voice broke as tears filled his eyes. "Why didn't you help me?"

"Oh, Marty, I'm sorry!" Clara rushed to his side. "I wanted to, I really did! If it had been up to me, that awful Buford wouldn't have gotten within ten feet of your mother! But unfortunately I'm bound by the rules of the High Court of Fairy Elders, and they're incredibly strict."

"Strict enough to let Buford murder my mother?" Marty asked suspiciously.

"I'm afraid so," Clara said, not looking any happier about it than he did. "Until I formally present myself to you – full name and all that – I'm not allowed to perform any major magic for you. Since your parents and uncle wouldn't let me do that. . . . I'm also not allowed to reveal my existence to non-family members without your say-so, and I know you don't consider the Tannens family." She sighed deeply. "I wish your uncle hadn't interrupted me at the funeral. I could have prevented so much."

"You still could have," Marty said, eyes narrowed. "Why didn't you just break the stupid rules?"

"I was sorely tempted, believe me. But if I had, the court would have decommissioned me, and reversed everything I ever did for you."

"What have you ever done for me?"

Clara took Marty's chin and made him look her in the eyes. "Marty – do you remember two months ago, when Buford was beating you for you taking too long with one of your chores? How he twisted your wrist, and you thought you heard a snap?"

"Ye-"

Marty stopped, eyes widening. "Holy shit. . .it _was_ broken, wasn't it?"

Clara nodded. "We're allowed to tweak things for unknowing charges. It's a loophole we left open in case of situations like these. Surely you've noticed you heal unusually fast."

"Yeah. . . ." Marty rubbed his wrist, looking down. "Thank you," he said quietly. "If I couldn't play guitar, I don't know what I'd do."

Clara patted his back. "You're welcome. I was glad to help out any way I could."

Marty nodded, now feeling kind of embarrassed. "Sorry for going off on you like that," he apologized, blushing. "It's just that-"

"I know," Clara cut him off. "It's all right. I really am sorry I couldn't do anything more. If you knew how many times I wanted to curse the Tannens out of existence. . . ." She shook her head and smiled. "Well. Now that we've finally gotten introductions out of the way, I intend to spend a lot of time making up for my forced inaction." Her grin widened. "Starting with tonight."

"Oh? What are you going to do?"

Clara chuckled. "You _were_ just complaining that you wanted to go to that ball. . . ."

Marty bit his lip nervously. "Yeah, but Buford will beat me to a pulp if I show up."

"Marty, I'm your fairy godmother. I can disguise you so-"

"Marty!"

Startled, Marty and Clara looked down the road. Riding up fast was Doc Brown. "Uh-oh," Clara said. "Who's that?"

"Doc!" Marty said, grinning. "I didn't – hey, don't go!" he said, seeing Clara's form start to shimmer out. "I want to introduce you. He's a great guy. You'll probably like him."

"Marty, no one but family can know who I am!"

"Doc's the closest thing I have to family," Marty said firmly. "I say it's okay. That should be enough to satisfy those elders, right?"

"Well, yes. . . ."

"Then stick around. Please."

Clara paused, then nodded, coming back to full visibility. "All right. I am curious. . . ."

Doc trotted up to the stables, dismounting in front of his friend. "Hello, Marty," he said, giving the teen a grin. "I thought, since the Tannens are out for the evening, I'd come over and keep you company for a while." Then he frowned over at Clara. "Though it appears someone's beaten me to the punch. I don't believe we've met?"

"We haven't," Clara said, approaching him with a nervous smile. "I'm – oh!"

Clara's foot snagged a root sticking out of the ground, sending her sprawling. Doc quickly reached out and caught her before she could hit the ground. "Whoa!" he said, helping her stand upright. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, thank you," Clara assured him, looking up.

They froze, staring into each other's eyes. Marty watched them for a moment, frowning. "Uh, guys? You okay?"

Doc finally broke the silence. "What was your name?"

"Clayton," Clara said slowly. "Clara Clayton."

Doc smiled warmly. "Clara. What a beautiful name."

Clara smiled back, blushing. "And yours?"

"Dr. Emmett Brown, at your service," Doc replied, tilting his head.

Marty quickly realized they weren't going to stop staring at each other anytime soon unless he did something. He faked a loud cough, hoping to get their attention. Doc and Clara started, then broke apart and looked away from each other. Marty smirked at Clara. "See, told you you'd like him."

Clara blushed harder. "Watch it, buster."

"Er – have the Tannens hired a new servant, then?" Doc asked, glancing back over at Clara.

"Nope. She's actually my fairy godmother."

Doc blinked a few times, then raised an eyebrow. "Fairy godmother?"

"Yeah, I was surprised too. Show him, Clara."

Still blushing, Clara took her wand out and directed it at the root that had tripped her. A flash of purple light later, the root was a large brown snake. Doc's jaw dropped. "Great Scott!"

"Pretty cool, huh?" Marty beamed.

"Amazing! I dabbled a little in magical studies while in school, but I never made any real breakthroughs. Too focused on science, probably. How do you do it?" he asked eagerly.

"Well, fae are pretty much born with it – I'm not sure I could put it into words," Clara admitted. "You'd be better off asking one of our historians."

"Oh, I see." He shook his head, then suddenly looked up and frowned. "Wait a moment. If you're Marty's fairy godmother-"

"Before you ask, it was fairy law that prevented me from helping your friend, not lack of sympathy," Clara explained quickly. "There's all sorts of rules about how we have to present ourselves to our charges before we can do anything, and I never got a chance to."

"Yeah, apparently the Court of Elders have their heads up their asses," Marty said, rolling his eyes.

Clara half-smiled. "Not _quite_ how I would have phrased it, but. . . ." She looked apologetically at Doc. "Please believe me. I would have never _willingly_ left him to this sort of torment."

Doc continued frowning at her for a moment, then his face softened. "I have a hard time believing anyone would." The curious look came back. "So, what exactly is it you do as a fairy godmother?"

"Grant wishes, help out around the house, sometimes help with matchmaking – that sort of thing," Clara shrugged.

"Very general category, hmm?"

"You have to be prepared for a little of everything."

"I'm just glad you know how to heal people fast," Marty said, flexing his wrist again.

"Me too," Clara nodded.

Doc eyed the stick snake, slithering away into the underbrush. "I have to say, I'm quite intrigued by all this. Can we have another demonstration? Please?"

"Of course," Clara grinned. "We have to get ready for the party, after all."

"Party?"

"She's sending me off to the ball," Marty explained. "Which starts in about an hour-"

"42 minutes, actually," Doc reported, pulling out his pocket watch and checking it.

"No time like the present, then," Clara said, waving her wand around for emphasis.

"You're sure the Tannens won't realize I'm there?" Marty asked, looking nervous.

"Of course not. I personally guarantee it," Clara assured him, dropping a curtsy. "Now – first of all, you'll need a carriage. Hmmm, what can I transform. . . ."

Marty looked over at the vegetable garden near the stables. "Can we use anything from there?" he asked, shrugging a little.

Clara turned and looked herself. Her eyes brightened. "Yes! Get me that large pumpkin in the corner."

Doc and Marty went over, cut the pumpkin off the vine, and carried it over to her. Clara examined it for a moment, nodded, then gestured with her wand, motioning the boys to stand back. With a flash of purple, the pumpkin swelled and turned white, gaining doors and wheels and some fancy scrollwork, until finally it was a grand-looking carriage. "Will that do?" she asked Marty.

"Hell yes," Marty said, goggling. "That's nicer than the one my parents had!"

"I create only the best," Clara smiled. "Now, you need horses."

"I think there might be one or two left in the stables," Marty said.

"Do you really want to use them, though? Buford's sure to recognize his own animals," Doc pointed out.

"Oh, yeah, good point," Marty grimaced. "Not to mention most of them are as nasty as Buford himself."

"Let's get a substitute then," Clara said. "I assume that stable has vermin in it."

"Yeah. The Tannens make a game of siccing the dogs on them sometimes."

Clara winced. "I see. Let's hope there's still enough in there, then." She entered the stable, followed closely by the boys. "All right – if possible, I want six rats," she said firmly, waving her wand to encompass the building.

A haze of purple light filled the stables, making everything look foggy and glittery. After a minute, six large rats floated over, caught in the light and squeaking in fear. Clara carefully brought them outside and deposited them on the ground in front of the carriage. "It doesn't hurt them, does it?" Marty asked, frowning. "It's just – I sort of sympathize with them, a little. . . ."

Clara patted his shoulder. "They'll be fine. I promise." She waved her wand again. The light flashed from purple to brilliant white. When it cleared, the six rats were six fine white horses. Another quick wave of the wand hooked them up to the carriage. "They might act a little horsey for a while after changing back, but they'll be perfectly all right."

Doc patted the nose of the lead horse, who whickered at him. "Incredible." He looked over at Clara, blushing faintly. "All the more incredible since you probably consider this all commonplace, Miss Clayton."

Clara smiled. "You can call me Clara, if you like."

"All right – Clara," Doc said, his blush deepening. "And you can call me Emmett."

"Emmett," Clara nodded, apparently liking the taste of the name on her tongue. "And it goes both ways, really. Some of what humanity's come up with amazes _me_."

"No way," Marty said incredulously. "What could we come up with that's better than magic?"

"Let me put it this way – not all of my kin have discovered indoor plumbing."

Marty and Doc exchanged disgusted looks. "Great," Marty said, the sarcasm dripping off his voice.

"I know," Clara said, looking a bit embarrassed. "Luckily those of us who interact with humans regularly are much better at that – aha!" she suddenly said, spying a lizard sitting near the steps of the house. "And here is our driver!"

Doc's eyes bulged. "What – you can turn animals human?"

"Common fairy trick," Clara said, picking the startled lizard up with another jet of purple light. "It's no more dangerous or permanent than turning the rats into horses."

"I see." Doc regarded the floating lizard. "_Could_ you make it permanent? Just for curiosity's sake."

"I could," Clara admitted. "But those sort of spells are rather complicated and use a lot more power. We don't do that often."

"Don't see why you'd want to," Marty said, eyeing the lizard.

"Well, every so often something happens. You'd be surprised at how many people want their pets to be human. And of course, the less nice fae sometimes turn animals into people just for laughs." Clara transmogrified the lizard, changing it into a young, dark-haired man richly attired in green. She gently set him into the driver's seat as he looked around curiously, tongue still flicking out of his mouth. "All right, that's taken care of. Now we just need a footman." She started searching the ground near them.

Marty heard squeaking near his foot. Looking down, he saw George watching the proceedings. "Hey, buddy," he said, gently picking the mouse up. "Surprised you weren't sucked up to be a horse."

"Careful, Marty, he might bite," Doc warned.

"Nah, he's okay. He's kind of my pet, actually. Named him George." Marty held him out to the scientist.

Doc examined the mouse, then reached out a hand. George sniffed his fingers, then let the scientist pet him. "Hmm. He does seem pretty tame."

"He's rather cute," Clara said, also giving the mouse a pet. Then she frowned thoughtfully. "You know. . . ."

Marty looked up, startled. "What? You're not seriously-"

"Why not? He's available, he's tame, he already knows you. . . ." She put a hand over her heart. "You have my word it won't hurt him. He'll go straight back to being a mouse once the spell ends."

Marty frowned. "Sure?"

"Positive."

Marty hesitated a moment more, then put George on the ground in front of Clara. The mouse squeaked at her. Clara smiled at him. "Don't worry, George, this'll be over in a jiffy," she said, waving her wand at him.

The purple light enveloped George, then flashed white. Moments later, a startled-looking young man with black hair and clad in white livery sat blinking in the mouse's place. "You all right, George?" Marty asked, kneeling next to him.

George nodded slowly, examining himself. "Can you talk?" Doc asked, curious.

"He should be able to," Clara said, giving George a hand up. "Try it, dear."

"H-hello," George said, a little shakily. He blinked again and looked around. "Gee, the world looks _different_ from up here."

Marty patted George's back. "Don't worry, you'll get used to it. It's only for tonight anyway."

"Yeah." George frowned at Marty as he straightened up. "I thought you were taller."

"Huh?" Marty looked George up and down. "Hey, you _are_ taller than me! What gives, Clara?"

"Sorry," Clara said, unsuccessfully trying to stifle a giggle. "That's just how he would look if he were human."

Marty scowled. "Not fair."

Doc looked over at the lizard driver. "Can _you_ talk?"

"Believe I can, guv." In response to everyone's surprised looks, he added, "I'm an English lizard, gents. Scarpered from the local zoo a few months ago."

Marty shook his head. "This is going to be the weirdest night of my life."

"I think it's fascinating myself," Doc said, shooting a warm smile at Clara.

Clara blushed and smiled back. "Well, that's transportation taken care of. Now we just need to take care of your clothes."

Marty looked down at his ratty red shirt and blue pants. "Yeah, I don't think I'll make it through the front door like this. Got any ideas for me, Clara?"

"Let's see," Clara grinned. She directed her wand at Marty. "Do you want a costume, or just something fancy?"

Marty considered the question a moment. "Latter, I guess," he said with a shrug. "I can't think of anything I really want to dress up as."

"Right."

Clara waved the wand, summoning the purple light. It flowed up Marty's body, soaking into his clothes and altering them. Marty laughed as the light swirled around him. "Hey, that kind of tickles!"

The laughter faded away quickly, though, as he got a good look at his new shirt. "What – _ruffles_?"

"I hear they're in style," Clara shrugged.

"For who, pirates?"

"Oh, come now, it's a perfectly good shirt!" Marty gave her a look. "All right, all right. . . ." A swish of her wand, and the ruffles vanished. "What about the rest of the outfit?"

Marty looked it over. His pants looked about the same, although all the rips and stains had been removed, and they had a silkier sheen. His shirt had been changed to white, and also felt like silk. Over that was a fine red and black jacket, perfectly fitted to his body. "Not bad," he said with a grin. "Though, uh, you forgot a bit." He held up his foot, still clad in the remains of an old brown shoe.

"Oh!" Clara looked disapprovingly at her wand. "Darn it, I thought I got the shoes. Sorry." She gave her wand a flick, transforming the wrecked footwear into a pair of white high-top shoes.

Marty wriggled his toes in them. "Perfect! Comfy, too."

"Well, they _are_ made especially for you." A final wave of the wand, and an elaborate red and black feathered mask appeared in Marty's hand. "And _that_ should keep you from being recognized. I think you're all set!"

Marty, however, was frowning. "Yeah, I guess. Though won't it look a little weird for me to come alone? I'm only 17."

"Pish tosh," Clara said dismissively. "Plenty of young nobles go out on their own. Some younger than you."

"Yeah, but-" Marty turned to look at Doc. "Doc, you want to come with me?"

Doc blinked. "Me?"

"Yeah! You're my best friend, Doc. I want to share this with you."

"It wouldn't be any trouble for me to whip up another outfit," Clara said.

"Well. . . ." Doc smiled. "Oh, why not? I'm not normally much of a party person, but I'll give it a go."

Clara aimed her wand at him. "Any preferences, then?"

"Not really." Doc paused and thought. "Though I'd prefer no ruffles myself."

Clara rolled her eyes a bit. "Of course. Now hold still. . . ." She waved her wand.

The purple light swirled easily around Doc, clothing him in a fancy dark brown suit and red vest, with matching flared gloves. Marty applauded as the light receded. "Looking good, Doc!"

"Thanks," Doc said, examining himself with pleasure. "Yes, shoes all set. . . . This will do nicely. Thank you, Clara."

"My pleasure," Clara smiled, providing him with a brown mask. "You look quite handsome, you know."

Doc flushed pink. "Really? I – I'm glad."

Marty got the feeling they were about to start another staring contest and quickly intervened. "We'd better get going – the ball starts in just a few."

"Right." Clara nodded at Marty and Doc. "You two go and have fun. I'll make sure everything here is up to the Tannens' standards." Her expression suddenly turned serious. "But be sure to be back here by midnight! The spells with dissipate at the last stroke of the clock."

"Why then?" Doc asked, curious.

"They're only designed to last the rest of today. After the last stroke of midnight, it's officially tomorrow." She smiled. "That should still leave you plenty of time to enjoy yourselves, though."

"Right. Back at midnight," Marty confirmed. He started for the carriage, then paused and looked back. "So – you're just gonna stay here all night by yourself?"

Clara shrugged. "Someone has to make sure your chores get done."

"Yeah, but – it doesn't seem fair. You did all the work here."

"I'm a fairy godmother. That's my job."

"Still. . . ." Marty extended a friendly hand. "Come with us, Clara."

Clara looked surprised. "What? Really?"

"Why not? I bet you'd have fun."

"It would be a honor to escort you," Doc added, bowing low.

Clara blushed again, fiddling with her wand. "Well. . . ."

"Hey, the lizard – you need a name," Marty said, frowning up at the driver. "What do you think of Bill?"

"Works for me, sir," the lizard replied, tipping his hat.

"Okay then, Bill and George are getting to go," the teen pointed out. George gave a shy little wave. "Why not you?"

"It would probably help if you came," Doc agreed. "That way we'd be certain of getting back on time."

Clara hesitated a moment longer. Then she smiled. "Oh, why not?" he said, turning her wand on herself. "I enjoy a good party. And you're right, Dr. Brown – Emmett," she corrected herself. "I'd hate for you to miss the deadline and have everything come undone around you."

"That would be embarrassing, yeah," Marty said.

"Not to mention possibly fatal, if the wrong person is in a bad mood," Doc nodded. Marty winced, rubbing his neck.

"I don't think it would be as bad as that," Clara said, transforming her dress into a puffy purple gown embroidered with silver thread. "I think if worse came to worst you'd just get a stay in the dungeons."

"That doesn't sound much better," Marty muttered.

Clara grinned wickedly at him. "I _am_ allowed to break you out if that happens." She added silver shoes and a bejeweled purple mask to her outfit. "I'm sure it won't come to that, though."

"Of course not," Doc said firmly. He bowed again to Clara and offered his arm. "My lady?"

Clara giggled and took it. "My lord."

"That's your cue, George," Marty said, turning to look at the humanized mouse.

"What? Oh!" George jogged over to the carriage, then frowned. "Uh – what exactly do I do?"

Marty thought. "Um. . . . Honestly, all I can think of is opening and closing the door."

"That'll do for tonight," Clara chuckled. "Though I suppose I'd better make sure our driver knows how to drive. . . ." She directed a quick jet of purple light at Bill, who blinked and shook his head. "All right?" she asked him, looking slightly concerned.

Bill nodded. "Just fine, ma'am."

"Good." George opened the door. "Everybody in!"

"Thanks, George." Marty climbed into the carriage, followed by Doc and Clara. The inside was just as nice as the outside, with thick, padded seats. "Man, you do go all out, don't you?"

"Only the best," Clara said with a proud smile.

Marty saw George starting to close the door. "Hey, George, come on in and sit with us."

George frowned, looking a bit shy. "You sure that's okay?"

"I doubt anybody's gonna care," Marty assured him. "Besides, I bet Doc's dying to grill you on what it's like to be human now."

"I am not!" Doc said, flushing.

George grinned and climbed in. Bill looked back at them as they got settled. "Everybody in?"

"We're set," Marty replied. "Let's go!"

"Right-o, guv!" Bill slapped the reigns, and they were off. "The next stop, the Palace!"


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

October 31st

The Royal Palace

6:37 P.M.

"Holy shit."

Marty stared as they neared the gates of the royal palace. The castle towered over them, towers standing straight and proud in the sky, banners waving from their tops. "It's _huge_!"

"Royal castles normally are," Doc said, admiring the view. "What with all the staff the royal family employs. There's cooks, gardeners, butchers, bakers–"

"Candlestick makers?" Marty cut in with a smirk.

"Maybe," Doc smirked back. "At any rate, this place is like a small city all its own. You'd probably find a population near-equal to that of Hill Valley within its walls."

"Wow."

"Now you know how I feel whenever I got into the house," George said, also goggling at the sheer size of the palace.

"I bet. I wonder if anybody ever gets lost in there. Do they give out maps?" Marty joked.

"If you need one, I think I could conjure one up," Clara said, looking around. "This reminds me quite a bit of Oberon's court. Your royal family must be very rich."

"Loaded," Marty said. "You'd think they'd give the rest of us a break on taxes."

"The government lowering taxes?" Doc said, one eyebrow raised. "That's impossible."

A page met them at the gate. "May I have your name please?"

"We're the-" Marty started, then hesitated. He couldn't use his real name. . . .

"The Von Brauns," Doc said smoothly, surprising the teen. "Please forgive our tardiness – the driver's a bit new, and we left a little late."

"I drove as fast as I could, guv," Bill protested, frowning.

"I know you did, Bill."

The page smiled and bowed. "It's fine, my lord. Welcome to the royal palace." He opened the gates, allowing them in.

"Von Braun?" Marty whispered once they were safely inside.

"It's my old family name," Doc explained. "My ancestors are from Germany. My father changed it during the Great War. Honestly, I prefer Brown – sounds less stuck up."

Most of the road leading around the front of the palace was lined with fancy carriages, parked tightly together. Finally, though, Bill found a space not far from a set of steps. "You think this is the spot?" he asked as he maneuvered them in.

Clara flicked her wand at the wall. A section turned transparent, revealing a crowd of costumed dancers. "This would be it," she nodded, dispelling the magic. "Thank you."

"Not a problem, ma'am," Bill said, tipping his cap.

George let the group out. "You gonna join us inside, guys?" Marty asked as he put on his mask. "Free for everybody."

George and Bill looked at each other, then at the palace. "I dunno," George admitted. "I've never felt comfortable around people. And what if somebody has a cat or a dog in there?"

"You're bigger than them now, you know."

"Still, I think my first response would be to try and hide. I don't think anybody in there would like that."

"Same here," Bill nodded. "We'll stay out here until you're ready to scarper."

"Okay, but the door's open if you want to come in."

"And if you need some entertainment for yourselves, just call for me," Clara added.

"Thanks," George said. "We should be okay, though. You guys have fun."

"Thank you." Clara looped her arm through Doc's. "Shall we, then?"

"We came all the way here," Doc grinned. "I just hope not too many people try to make conversation."

"Let's get our stories straight right now," Marty said as they started up the steps. "We're the Von Braun family, a bunch of minor nobles from Germany. We should probably say we've got a barony, they're the lowest on the totem pole."

"Makes you wonder why the Tannens insist on giving themselves such airs," Doc muttered.

"Guess they figure, if you've got it. . . ." Marty shrugged. "Anyway, we got an invitation from the king's staff and thought it would be fine. I guess we can just describe the McFly estate if anybody asks about our home; they all basically look the same anyway.

"All right then. Anything else we should know?"

"Nah. Trust me, most of these guys probably won't care what you say. They all just want to talk about themselves. Let 'em yap and just nod politely."

Doc chuckled. "You sound like you speak from experience."

"How do you think I survived all my parents' parties?" Marty smirked as he pulled open the large double doors.

A huge ballroom opened up before them, almost the size of the average house in Hill Valley. The ceiling was very high, supported by elaborate buttresses; a small skylight in the center let in the moonlight. There were a few oak tables lined up along the left wall, piled high with various refreshments. There were also chairs for tired dancers to rest in. The right wall had a small area for the band, who were playing faithfully for the dancers. A raised dias on the wall opposite the doors held a couple of thrones for the royal family – Marty saw King Robert seated in one, observing the party.

And what a party it was. The room was packed full of masked people, either dancing or standing in small groups and talking. Servants wound their way through the crowd of people, bringing around drinks and checking on the guests. Marty whistled. "_Man_, I thought _our_ parties were elaborate."

"This could give Oberon a run for his money," Clara agreed, watching the dancers whirl around and around.

Doc looked a bit awkward. "I can understand why George and Bill passed on coming inside. It's very – busy, isn't it?"

Marty looked over at him. "Feeling shy, Doc?"

"More like overwhelmed. I don't usually go to parties in general, and I've never been to an event of this magnitude." He frowned a little. "It's – a shock to the system."

Clara put her arm around him. "It'll be fine," she reassured him. "I bet half of these people won't even know we were ever here." She kissed his cheek, causing Doc to flush with pleasure. "Come, let's dance."

"All right," Doc agreed, looking a little more at ease with Clara at his side. "Coming, Marty?"

"I need a partner first," Marty said, scanning the crowd. "You guys go ahead, I'll catch up."

Doc and Clara nodded and headed out onto the dance floor. Marty watched them get situated, then began scanning the crowd, looking for any available girls.

He spotted two across the room, one in blue and one in pink, standing at one of the refreshment tables and chatting. Neither looked like they had a date nearby. Marty grinned and started across the dance floor, mentally rehearsing how to ask one of them to dance.

Then he froze. The girls _weren't_ alone. Standing not ten feet away were the Tannens. Although Marty couldn't see much of their faces under their masks, they appeared to be in very good moods. _Well, shit,_ Marty thought, frustrated. _How am I supposed to get myself a date now?_ He didn't want to take the chance of the Tannens recognizing him. _Guess I'll have to find someone else. Though that girl in the blue looks really pretty. . . ._

The younger Tannens had also noticed the girls. Marty watched with mild interest as they approached the pair. Griff took the girl in blue, while Biff handled the girl in pink. The girls eyed them a bit apprehensively. _Yeah, I'd be nervous too if those jackasses were in my face._

The boys didn't waste any time – Griff promptly tried to take the blue girl's arm, while Biff leered at the pink girl. The blue girl pulled away, frowning. Marty couldn't hear what she was saying, but she appeared to be scolding Griff. The pink girl simply looked disgusted and shook her head as Biff pointed at the dance floor.

The Tannens weren't ready to take no for an answer, though. Griff tried to grab the blue girl again, while Biff started arguing with the pink one. Marty rolled his eyes. "Perfect way to get her to dance with you," he muttered.

Things came to a head quickly. Upon receiving another rejection, Biff roughly grabbed the pink girl's arm, causing her to spill her drink all over her dress. A now very angry-looking blue girl dodged Griff's affections and signaled for a servant to come over. Seeing this, Biff and Griff reluctantly backed off. Marty smirked as the servant shook a finger at them as the girls glared. Edging a little closer, he heard faintly the phrase, "and if you put another toe out of line, we'll have you ejected!" _Serves them right,_ Marty thought, watching the Tannens skulk back to their father. _I just hope those girls are still open to dancing now._ Making sure the boys were sufficiently distracted, he resumed his approach.

". . .and I really liked this dress, too!" the pink girl was saying as he came up to them. "Jackass."

"They both are," the blue girl nodded, casting an annoyed look at the Tannens. "Go ahead and get changed, Lorraine. You can use something from my closet if you like."

"Thanks, Jennifer. Though I do have the dress from your birthday – that should still fit." Lorraine gave Jennifer a quick hug. "Let me know if they try again. I could use a laugh."

"Sure thing." Jennifer went back to the refreshments as Lorraine exited the ballroom.

Marty watched her go, then refocused his attention on Jennifer. "Okay, here goes," he said softly, walking up to her. "Excuse me?" Jennifer turned to face him. "Hi, I'm-"

Marty's voice died. From a distance, Jennifer had looked pretty. Now that he was up close, though, "pretty" just didn't cut it. This girl was beautiful! Granted, it was hard to see much of her face behind her feathery mask, but what he could see – those big brown eyes, that softly-curling brown hair, those plump pink lips – was absolutely gorgeous. _Oh, _wow_. McFly, I think you just hit the jackpot!_

And to Marty's joy, Jennifer was looking at him like she was thinking much the same thing. "Hi," she said softly, smiling.

"Hey," Marty replied, smiling back. "I'm Marty."

"I'm Jennifer," Jennifer said with a small curtsy.

Marty returned it with a bow, then extended his hand. "Would you like to dance?"

Jennifer's smile grew larger. "I'd love to," she replied, taking it.

Out of the corner of his eye, Marty saw Griff staring with his jaw hanging open, and had to stifle a laugh. "Hey! What makes _him_ so special?" Griff demanded as they proceeded to the dance floor.

"Sir," the servant said warningly, hovering nearby.

"I mean it! Why does _he_ get to dance with the princess?"

Marty nearly stumbled with shock. The _princess_? He looked over at Jennifer, who was looking rather embarrassed. "I was hoping to stay incognito for a bit longer," she mumbled. "Please don't be intimidated, Marty."

"It's – I'm more surprised, Jen – er, your Highness," Marty quickly corrected himself.

"Call me Jennifer," Jennifer told him firmly.

"But – you're the princess, and I'm just – some baron's kid-"

"I don't care who you are under there at the moment," Jennifer cut him off. She smiled again. "I still want to dance with you."

Marty blushed. "Thanks – Jennifer."

They reached a clear spot on the dance floor. Marty bowed, Jennifer curtsied, and they took each other's hands and began waltzing. Marty was a little rusty from lack of practice, but he soon picked up the steps again. He grinned as they whirled around the ballroom. _All right, I think this qualifies as the best night of my life now. Thank you Clara!_ He glanced around the room, trying to spot his fairy godmother. _I wonder how she and Doc are doing. . . ._

_Great Scott._

That was the only thought that had been going through Doc's head for the past fifteen minutes. He still could hardly believe he was at the royal castle, waltzing with the most incredible woman he'd ever met. It was all so surreal. He kept expecting to wake up at home any moment, with Einstein staring at him and waiting for breakfast.

Clara looked up at him with those wonderful brown eyes of hers. "How are you?" she asked softly.

"Still a little overwhelmed," Doc admitted. "I never thought I'd ever be in a situation like this. It's like a dream."

"Good dream, I hope."

Doc smiled at her. "Any dream with you in it is good."

Clara blushed. "Thank you," she said, a little shyly.

Looking at her, Doc couldn't help but feel another wave of curiosity about her origins. The scientist in him was dying to now more about how her magic worked. The rest of him just plain wanted to know more about her, period. "So, er – how did you become Marty's fairy godmother?" he asked as they twirled.

"It's something of a hereditary position," Clara said, sidestepping another couple. "My family has been doing the job for the McFlys for a few generations now. One of Marty's ancestors made a deal with one of mine for protection for his children, and things just proceeded from there. Seamus's father was the first to break the pattern – he didn't trust fae, for whatever reason. I was hoping to have an easier time with Marty, but. . . ." She sighed.

"I see," Doc said thoughtfully. "What do you get out of the deal, though? I doubt 'fairy godmother' is a paid position." His lips quirked in a half-smile. "I don't even know if fae use money."

Clara smiled. "Well, fae get a lot of their magical energy from human emotions. Being tied to a family pretty much guarantees me a rich source of that." Her smile became a bit sultry. "Though I think I've gained an even bigger reward now that I've met you."

Doc blushed, a pleasant tingle going up his spine. "Really?"

"Really."

"Ahem!"

Startled, Doc and Clara looked up. Buford was standing beside them, smirking nastily. "Well, lookie what we have here," he said, sizing Clara up like she was a piece of meat. "Ain't you gonna introduce me to the lady? I'd like a dance!"

Doc felt a surge of anger. He knew very well how Buford had acted toward Marty's mother – he didn't want Clara to have to go through that. "We're not done here," he said coldly.

Buford glared at him. "I think you are," he said, stepping closer. "I recognize you even under that duded-up mask, Brown." He smirked again. "How much did you have to pay her to come here with you?"

Only the fear of being thrown out and possibly exposing Marty kept Doc from hauling off and punching Buford right in the teeth. As it was, he couldn't help his hands automatically curling into fists. "Considering you want to cut in, I think you'd be a little more polite," he replied, voice still icy. "And it's not like we don't know about _your_ activities in the other part of town."

"Maybe," Buford admitted. "But at least people know I can get a real woman."

"So now she isn't a real woman?" Doc asked as Clara folded her arms.

Buford blinked, then scowled as his brain finally caught up with his mouth. "Just give me the goddamn dance!" Lowering his voice, he added, "Or once we get home, I'll make sure you never bother me again, blacksmith."

Doc knew _exactly_ what that meant. He frowned, feeling torn. He certainly didn't want to leave Clara to Buford's tender mercies. But he also didn't want to risk getting killed and leaving Marty alone. He frowned, struggling with what to say.

Clara touched his arm. "It's all right, Emmett," she said. "I'll dance with him." Turning to Buford, she curtsied. "All right, then. Your dance, mister–?"

"Tannen," Buford cheerfully provided. Not bothering to bow, he grabbed Clara roughly and started dragging her around the dance floor. Doc watched them impotently, disgusted. _Poor Clara!_

Clara gallantly tried to keep up as Buford pulled her around. "You know, you still owe me 80 dollars, blacksmith!" he suddenly yelled as he shoved another couple out of the way. "Maybe I'll just take it out of her!"

Doc hadn't thought he _could_ get any angrier. Apparently, Buford knew just how to push his limits. "Damn it, leave her alone!"

Buford just laughed before leaning uncomfortably close to Clara. "Woo! Yeah, I bet there's something you can do that's worth 80 dollars," he leered.

To Doc's surprise, Clara smiled at Buford. "I believe you've underestimated me, Mister."

"Oh, have I now?"

Clara nodded – then kicked him as hard as she could in the shin. Buford yelped, hopping backward. Doc grinned. _That's my girl!_

The smile quickly disappeared, though, as Buford angrily shoved Clara to the floor. The dancers around them froze, most looking at the scene in shock. Doc spotted Marty across the room, looking utterly furious. Doc knew the teen had to be thinking of his mother. He resolved to go over there and give the teen a hug as soon as the situation was resolved.

Marty's partner didn't seem too happy either. Excusing herself from Marty, she approached Buford with a scowl. "_What_ is going on here?"

"She kicked me!" Buford snapped, only glancing at the teenaged girl in blue.

"It's the least you deserved," Clara spat.

The other dancers nodded in agreement, throwing dirty looks Buford's way. "He said some very rude things about her," a tall, extremely skinny fellow in black said, frowning. Doc was somewhat surprised to see the man seemed to have _two_ dates, one clinging to either side of him. "Implied she was a – c-common sl-sl-slattern."

"Not to mention he basically manhandled her away from her previous companion!" a young auburn-haired woman added, on the arm of a man with an extraordinarily tall hat. "If he'd done that to _me_, your Highness, I would have kicked him too!"

Doc's jaw dropped, rage temporarily drowned out by shock. Your Highness? Marty was dancing with the _princess_? He turned to look at his friend, who shrugged and grinned back at him. _Great Scott! When Clara plans a night out, she certainly delivers!_

"I never did," Buford said, suddenly looking kind of nervous.

"I heard that '80 dollars' comment," the princess said coldly. "I don't think there is a soul here who didn't."

"That was just a joke! You knew I was joking, right?" Buford claimed, giving Clara a desperate smile.

Clara gazed stonily back at him. The princess sighed, putting a hand on her forehead. "This is why I don't give parties often. . .what's your name?"

"Buford Tannen," Buford said reluctantly.

"Tannen? You're not the father of those two louts who were pawing at me and my lady-in-waiting before, are you?"

". . .No."

"Hey!" yelled Biff's voice.

The princess looked really angry now, hands on hips, eyes narrowed behind her mask. "I think it's time for you lot to leave," she said, some of the larger servants coming up behind her.

"But-"

"_Now_."

Buford scowled. "Fine." He turned and stalked off the dance floor. "Come on, boys! Let's let these sissies have their party!"

Doc went over and helped Clara up off the floor. "Are you all right?" he asked, worried.

"Fine," Clara assured him. "He's lucky I didn't use my wand. . . ." She smiled at Doc. "I appreciate you trying to stand up for me. Though it wasn't strictly necessary."

Doc colored slightly at that. In his anger, he had completely forgotten Clara's fae nature. "Chivalry isn't a bad fault to have, is it?" he defended himself.

Clara's smile grew larger. "Not by a long shot." She looked over at large double doors. "Come, we have to hurry."

She and Doc hurried over just as one of the pages brought the Tannen's carriage up. Clara pulled her wand out of her sleeve and waved it once. A cloud of purple fog appeared around the horses' heads, then vanished. "There," Clara said, nodding once. "That'll make sure they'll be lost for a good few hours. Now we don't have to worry about them getting home before us."

"Something we'll need to tell Marty at the first opportunity," Doc said, noticing his friend starting to look fidgety.

The princess approached them. "I'm sorry about that," she said. "We didn't think anyone would dare to be that crass within the palace."

"Are you guys okay?" Marty added, coming up to join her.

"We're all right," Doc nodded. "Glad to see the backs of them."

"Us too," the princess said with a sigh. "His sons were all over me and my lady-in-waiting earlier. Made poor Lorraine ruin her dress." She shook her head. "I should have known the father would be worse. I'm sorry again."

"Don't trouble yourself, princess," Clara said. "They're gone now. I don't intend to let the memory of them ruin my entire evening."

The princess smiled. "Good, I'm glad." She slipped her arm through Marty's, then looked between him and Doc and Clara. "Didn't you all come in together?"

"They're my parents," Marty "confirmed."

The princess grinned. "It's good to meet you, then. I'm Jennifer Parker – though I'm sure you know that already," she added with a blush and soft giggle.

"Yes, but thank you for the formal introduction," Doc said with a bow. "I'm Baron Emmett Von Braun, and this is my wife Clara, and my son Marty. Whom you already know, I see – I hope you two are having fun."

Marty beamed. "It's been a blast."

"Marty's quite the dancer," Jennifer agreed, pulling her date a little closer.

Clara did the same to Doc. "He gets that from his father."

"I didn't know you could dance," Marty gently ribbed his friend.

Doc chuckled. "Man does not live by science alone, Marty." Turning back to Clara, he added, "Speaking of dancing, would you like to finish the one Tannen so rudely interrupted?"

"I'd love to," Clara said.

"You want another dance?" Marty asked Jennifer.

"Of course!" The two couples proceeded back out onto the dance floor. Doc and Marty winked at each other before resuming the waltz.

"What was that about?" Clara asked, looking over Doc's shoulder at Marty.

"Oh, I think we both agree this is a night we'll always remember," Doc grinned.

Clara practically glowed. "Me too. This is perfect."

"I know." Doc's expression turned thoughtful. "Though, I wonder how Bill and George are getting along?"

"I'm sure they've found something to occupy themselves."

_Man, I'm _bored_._

The sensation was an unfamiliar one to George. As a mouse, there had always been something for him to do, even it was just hiding from predators. Not to mention he probably wouldn't have even understood the concept with his mousy brain. But now, fully human with a fully human intellect, he understood it all too well. _Life as a mouse was a lot easier._

He looked over at Bill. The lizard turned driver seemed quite content to lie in the bright light spilling out of the windows and not move a muscle. What was it about lizards and sunning themselves? Even as a mouse, George had never really quite gotten that.

_At least he's not bored,_ George thought with a sigh. _I wish it was as easy for me. I'm itching for something to do now that I'm bigger than all those pesky dogs and cats and birds._

He looked over at the windows. He supposed he could go inside and join the party. But the thought of being surrounded by all those people unnerved him. He knew nobody would scream and try to throw things at him now, but still. . . . The mere idea of being boxed in like that made him want to run and hide. _How do humans stand it?_

Bill seemed to notice his silence and opened his eyes. "How're you doing, George?"

"I'm bored," George admitted.

"Come sun with me."

"I'm a mouse, Bill. Mice don't do that."

"You don't know what you're missing. The light feels great."

"I'll take your word for it." George sighed again, then got up. I think I'll go exploring. Must be something to do in a big place like this."

"Have fun," Bill said, closing his eyes again. "Just don't get lost. We've only got until midnight."

"I know, I know." George headed left, absently sniffing the air. That was another thing about humans – their sense of smell wasn't worth squat.

A few minutes of walking revealed nothing more interesting than trees, shrubs, and more carriages parked along the road. George grumbled to himself, frustrated. _Come on, there has to be _something_ around here that–_

A shadow moving over him caught his attention. Quite automatically, he ducked, frightened it was a hawk or owl. Then he remembered he was big and straightened back up, embarrassed. "This 'human' thing takes some getting used to," he muttered.

He looked up, trying to see what had spooked him. There was light pouring from a room just above his head, and a human-shaped shadow moving back and forth across it. George lifted an eyebrow, curious. What and who was up there?

He spotted a large tree growing nearby. Most of the lower branches were just about level with the room. George promptly went over and started climbing. _I hope Marty and his friends won't be mad at me for dirtying my clothes,_ he thought as he worked his way up. _I was just so bored! And I suppose it doesn't matter in the end what the clothes look like. Not like I'm keeping them past tonight._

He finally reached a nice thick branch directly across from the window. He shimmied out onto it, then took another look.

The person turned out to be a young woman, looking about the same age as Marty. She was currently sitting at a table and mirror, fixing up her hair a bit. _Oh,_ George thought, a bit disappointed. _Just fussing with her hair. I was hoping for something more exciting._

The girl finished her primping and stood up. Taking no notice of the fact her window was open, she stepped out of her dress, leaving herself in just her slip. George felt a little funny as he looked at her. Almost like he did when he saw a female mouse during certain times of the month. . . .

_What? She's a _human_! Why do I want to mate with _her_?_ George thought, shocked and confused. _You're a _mouse_, George! You can't feel this way about _human_ girls!_

But the feeling wouldn't be denied. Almost unconsciously, George began to scoot forward as the girl slipped on a new pink dress. _Well – okay, she is rather pretty. . .and that pink looks really good on her. . . ._

However, with his eyes fixed on the girl, George wasn't paying attention to other, more important things. Without warning, he lost his balance and started falling. Startled, he yelped and desperately grabbed at the branch. He hung upside-down for a moment, then the bark came off in his hands, and he fell to the road below.

It fortunately wasn't much of a fall, and George managed to twist so he landed feet-first instead of head-first. Still, the landing left him stunned for a moment. _Ow. Next time, look where you're going instead of at the pretty girl._

"Hey! Are you okay?"

George looked up. The girl he'd been watching before was leaning out her window, looking down at him with concern. "Yeah, I'm okay," he called, getting back up. "Just fell out of that tree."

The girl frowned. "What were you doing up a tree?"

George felt his cheeks heat up. He had a feeling she wouldn't appreciate it if he told her the truth. "Uh – birdwatching," he blurted, fiddling with his hands behind his back.

The girl raised an eyebrow. "Not many birds come out at night."

"I'm new at this," George said honestly. "Look, if I'm bothering you, I'll leave." He started walking away, still blushing brightly. _Oh boy. Hopefully, I can get away without telling Marty about this._

"Oh, no! Wait!" the girl called after him. "What's your name!"

George stopped and turned. "Uh, George. George – McFly."

"I'm Lorraine. Lorraine Baines." The girl smiled. "Here for the party?"

"Sort of. I'm the footman of some of the guests. I'm waiting for them."

Lorraine frowned again. "Don't you want to join the fun? The ball is open invitation, you know. Everyone's welcome."

"I know, but – people make me nervous," George admitted, fidgeting.

"Do I make you nervous?"

George looked up at her. She was smiling down at him, her brown hair loosely framing her face, brown eyes gentle. He felt another surge of that funny feeling. "Different kind of nervous."

The instant he said it, George regretted it. What kind of thing was that to say to a girl? One who was technically a different species, no less? He blushed again and looked at his feet, wishing he was still small so he could vanish into a crevice somewhere.

Lorraine, however, seemed amused. "Aren't you the sweet talker," she teased him gently. "Hang on a moment, I'll come down and talk to you face-to-face. I'm getting a backache hanging out my window like this." She disappeared back inside. George waited, fighting the urge to run away.

After about a minute, Lorraine reappeared from a doorway George hadn't noticed before. He swallowed nervously as she approached – she was even prettier up close. "Ah – ah – hello," he stammered, feeling a little weak in the knees.

"Hi." Lorraine chuckled, noticing his reaction. "Don't be so nervous. I don't bite."

George managed a shaky smile. "I'm sorry, Miss Baines. Nervous is just how I am."

"That's why you didn't go into the party?" George nodded. "That's too bad. It's a lot of fun."

"So I hear," George nodded. "I gotta admit, I'm really bored waiting out here. That's why I climbed the tree."

"Must have been pretty desperate to go birdwatching at night," Lorraine noted with a small grin.

"Well, there's owls and stuff," George defended himself, though he couldn't keep the blush from his face. How many times was he going to do that? "Er – how come _you're_ not at the party?" he asked hastily, hoping to distract her.

"Oh, some jackass with no manners spilled my drink on me," Lorraine said, looking annoyed. "I had to go and change. I really liked that other dress too."

"I'm sorry about that," George said. Then, awkwardly, he added, "You look very pretty in that one."

Now it was Lorraine's turn to blush. "Thank you."

They stood in silence for a moment. "So," George finally said, rubbing the back of his neck. "You're probably eager to go back to the ball and stuff. . . ."

"I would like to get a few more dances in, yes," Lorraine nodded.

"Want me to walk back with you?"

Lorraine smiled brightly. "I'd like that."

"Uh, good." They started walking back to the ballroom entrance. "So – you live here, I assume," he said awkwardly.

"Yeah, I'm one of the princess's ladies-in-waiting," Lorraine confirmed.

"What's that?"

"Personal assistant. You know, help her with anything she needs, keep an eye on her around the castle, things like that."

George frowned, thinking of Marty and how he had to "assist" his stepbrothers. "Must be a lot of work."

"Not as much as you'd think," Lorraine said. "Jennifer's very nice, and she doesn't mind doing her own dirty work sometimes."

"A lot more than I can say for some people," George muttered, frowning.

Lorraine looked over at him, concerned. "Your employers aren't mean to you, are they?"

"Oh no!" George said hastily. "We get along great! I – just have a friend who's not so lucky."

Lorraine winced. "I see. He has my sympathy."

They arrived back at the great doors. Lorraine looked at the doors, then back at George. "Are you sure you don't want to come in?" she asked. "It's really not all that bad."

George looked in the window. There _did_ seem to be a lot of room in the ballroom, but still. . . . "I'm still kind of nervous," he admitted. "I don't know anybody in there. And besides, I don't really have a costume or a mask."

Lorraine blinked, then yelped and felt her own face. "Oh, damn! I knew I'd forgotten something!" She smiled at him. "Well, then, we can go in unmasked together. You don't have to talk to anyone else if you don't want to."

George raised an eyebrow, puzzled. "You really want me to come in with you, huh?"

"Well, you said you were bored." Lorraine blushed. "And – you are pretty cute."

George felt himself start to turn pink yet again. "You – you really think so?"

Lorraine nodded and giggled. "You look just like a puppy when you do that," she told him, playfully reaching up and ruffling his hair.

George blushed harder. _If only you knew I was a little lower on the food chain. . . ._

Lorraine offered him her arm. "So – will you come in?"

George hesitated. That smile on her face was so inviting. . .and it made her look so beautiful. . . . _Jeez, get a grip, George! She's human! You gotta stop thinking of her like this! After tonight – nothing can happen._

_But – but then, I guess there's nothing saying I can't enjoy tonight. She probably won't even remember me after the party's over, anyway. And man, am I ever sick of hanging out here._ He smiled back and took her arm. "Well – okay. Let's try it."

Lorraine beamed. "Thank you." She opened the doors and pulled him inside.

It was busy inside the ballroom, with dancers whirling around and various people grouped together, chatting. George stuck close to Lorraine's side as she led him over to the buffet table. "Want anything to eat?"

"I could nibble, I think," George said.

"Oh, you can do a lot more than nibble here," Lorraine smirked.

George stared at the piles of food. "I guess! Wow."

Lorraine grabbed a cream puff. "Try the cheese platter. It's really good." She pointed to a huge plate filled with bright yellow and orange slices.

George picked up a yellow slice and sniffed it. Even to his weaker human nose, it smelled all right. He took a small bite and chewed. His face lit up in a bright grin. "Mmm, this is good!"

"Told ya!"

George finished his cheese slice, then started trying one of everything on the table. Most of it was almost painfully delicious. "We _never_ eat this well at home," he informed Lorraine between bites of a sweetmeat. "We eat a lot of bread, frankly."

Lorraine grinned. "One of the advantages of living at the royal palace – the food is _always_ good."

"I bet." George felt a stab of jealousy at the mice who lived in the royal kitchens. _Lucky little bastards._

The band had changed songs now, to a slow ballad. Lorraine looked over at George hopefully. "Do you want to dance?"

George considered that as she washed everything down with a glass of milk. The party didn't seem as scary now that he'd had a chance to watch it. "I suppose I could try," he finally said. "I warn you, though, I've got two left feet."

"Oh, I'm sure you're fine." Lorraine pulled him to a clear patch of dance floor. "Ever waltzed before?"

"No, can't say I have."

"It's easy. Here, put your hand on my waist and follow my lead."

Trying desperately to fight off the latest in a long line of blushes, George did so. _My face is going to be permanently pink by the end of the night. I just hope I don't mess this up._

Lorraine started dancing, going slow so George could keep up with her steps. George nearly stumbled a few times, but soon managed to pick up the beat. After a couple of minutes, he was even starting to enjoy himself. _Wow, humans can do all sorts of fun stuff! Makes me kinda wish I didn't have to change back._

He abruptly bumped into someone as he and Lorraine did another revolution. "Oh, sorry," he said, turning around.

"Hey, that's – oh, hey, George! You decided to come in after all, huh?"

"Marty! Yeah, I did."

The girl Marty was dancing with looked surprised – at least, George thought she did. It was a bit hard to tell under her mask. "You two know each other?"

"This is my footman," Marty explained. "George, this is Jennifer."

"Pleasure to meet you," George said, doing a half-bow. "Miss Baines here convinced me to come inside."

"Miss Baines?" Jennifer looked past George. "There you are, Lorraine! I was wondering where you'd gotten to. Where's your mask?"

"Forgot it in my room," Lorraine admitted. "And since George here didn't have one, I opted not to go back for it."

"Wait, is this your lady-in-waiting from before?" Marty asked, looking between Jennifer and Lorraine. "Weird!"

"Yeah, I know," Jennifer agreed with a giggle. "Funny how you two should meet up at the same time we did."

Lorraine smiled and lightly squeezed George's arm. "Well, maybe it was just meant to be."

Doc and Clara appeared, weaving their way through the crowd. "Just thought we'd check up on you," Doc said, grinning. "So, you decided to come in, George?"

"Miss Baines didn't want me to miss out on all the fun," George said.

"Oh, call me Lorraine," Lorraine told him, pulling him a bit closer. "We're all friends here."

"Uh, okay – Lorraine," George said, a bit shakily.

Marty smirked at them before looking over at Doc. "We're doing good. How are you guys?"

"Just wonderful," Clara said, giving Doc an adoring look. "We're taking a break from dancing to go out and look at the stars. Astronomy's always been a favorite hobby of mine."

"Aww, how romantic," Lorraine sighed.

"Yeah," Marty agreed. "Have fun."

"I'm sure we will." Doc and Clara nodded at them all before departing.

"I don't think we're going to get a break from the dancing just yet," Jennifer admitted, looking after them enviously. "My father's going to want me to dance with a couple more of those princes. . . ." She turned back to Marty with a smile. "But later on, when we get a chance, remind me to take you to the gardens. There's a certain spot I want to show you."

"Okay," Marty agreed readily. "Come on, let's go get in another dance before somebody whisks you away. See you later, George, Lorraine."

"Bye," George said. He frowned as Jennifer led Marty away. _Crap, there goes everyone I know. . . ._

Lorraine gave his arm another squeeze. "Don't get nervous. I'm still here."

George looked at her and smiled. "Yeah, that's true." He swallowed, trying to ignore how nice it felt with her pressed up against him. "So, wanna finish this dance?"

"Sure." They resumed their waltz. Lorraine grinned at him. "Enjoying yourself, I hope?"

"Yeah, actually, I am," George admitted, gazing into her eyes. _Boy, this is weird. I've never felt like this before. Not even for another mouse. It's like I could spent the rest of my life right here with her. She's pretty and fun and–_

_And human, George. You gotta stop thinking like this. You may look like a person now, but underneath all this, you're a mouse. She'd probably run screaming if she saw you in your regular form. After tonight, when you go back, you–_

_Who says I have to go back?_

The thought startled George, almost enough to make him stop dancing. Not going back to being a mouse wasn't something he ever thought he'd consider. But with Lorraine here. . .and hell, it might be nice to be able to talk back to Marty, be on (or above) eye level with him. . . . _Even with the lack of smell and stuff, being human's pretty cool. I wouldn't mind staying like this. I bet Clara _could_ make it permanent if she wanted._ His stomach did a flip-flop. _Yeah, but is it what I really–_

He suddenly noticed Lorraine's face was a lot closer to his than before. Lorraine gave him a rather nervous-looking grin. "Uh – hi."

"Hi," George squeaked.

"I – um – well – it's traditional to kiss girls at the end of this kind of dance," Lorraine stammered, smile plastered in place. "I was – kind of hoping – I know you just met me and all, but – still – tradition?"

George was thunderstruck. Kiss her? "I – I dunno," he admitted. Did he dare?

Suddenly, a hand was put between them. "Scram, loser," said the owner, a red-haired youth with a nasty smirk to rival any of the Tannens'. "I'm cutting in."

With that, he wrenched Lorraine away from George. "Hey!" Lorraine snapped, struggling in the stranger's grip. The boy just held on all the tighter, dragging her across the dance floor. "Let me go! George! George!"

George stood frozen. His instincts were yelling at him to run, to hide before he got hurt. For a moment, he was tempted to obey them. Wouldn't his life be easier if he did that, anyway? No more Lorraine, no more party, less temptation about this whole "human" business. . . .

Then he saw Lorraine's frightened eyes, quietly begging him to do something. And that red-haired boy was – was _laughing_! He seemed to find the whole situation hilarious! George's spine stiffened. He wasn't a mouse, he was a man – and he intended to prove it.

He marched up to the boy, eyes narrowed. "Excuse me," he growled, and shoved the boy away. Startled, the red-head fell to the ground, causing a few dancers to have to dodge him. George gave them an apologetic shrug, then turned back to Lorraine. She looked up at him, relieved and adoring. George smiled at her, gently cupping her face in his hands. Then he leaned down and kissed her.

A warm tingle went up his spine as their lips met. Something about the touch felt – felt completely _right_. Like he really did belong here, with her, no matter what his species. It was one of the best feelings he'd ever had. And judging by the way Lorraine pulled him close, she was feeling something similar.

Finally, they broke the kiss. Lorraine beamed up at him, eyes shining with delight. George beamed back, nodding slightly as he made up his mind. _That's it. Before we leave tonight, I'm gonna find Clara – and I'm gonna ask her if I can stay like this forever._


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

October 31st

The Royal Palace

11:56 P.M.

"And that crater over there, the one that looks like a starburst? We call that Little Sunshine."

Doc examined the crater through the telescope Clara had conjured up. "Yes," he nodded, "it does look like a little sun."

Clara grinned, then suddenly giggled a bit. "Oh, will you listen to me? I feel like I'm teaching school!"

Doc laughed along. "Perhaps – but please, continue the lesson," he urged her, looking up. "You're quite knowledgeable."

Clara smiled at him. "It's been a lifelong hobby. When I was little, I had a terrible fever and was confined to bed for a few months. My father found a telescope and put it by my window so I could see the night sky. I spent hours mapping out all the stars I found."

"Amazing," Doc said. Then he frowned. "Though I wasn't aware supernatural creatures _could_ get sick."

"Not the same illnesses that humans can get, but yes, we can fall ill," Clara shrugged. "We're really not all _that_ different, despite what the Unseelie court may say. I've even heard rumors that, under the right circumstances, humans can join our ranks."

"Really!" Doc rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I wonder what kind of transformative process that would require. Does the person have to naturally magically gifted, or can it happen to anyone as long as the circumstances are correct?"

"I don't know," Clara said. "They're only rumors, after all."

Doc nodded. "I know. It's just – your world fascinates me." He looked at her again, his voice going soft. "_You_ fascinate me."

Clara blushed and ducked her head. "I'm just a fairy godmother. Some of the other Fae are much more powerful than me."

"I don't care about them. I think you're absolutely amazing."

Clara's blush deepened. "Well – I think _you're_ amazing too. Some of the ideas you've told me – Emmett, you're really ahead of your time."

Doc fidgeted a bit, looking embarrassed. "Maybe, but – I bet none of them can hold a candle to what you can do with that wand."

"Oh, don't start," Clara said sternly. "Your inventions are wonderful – and they last a lot longer too. Magic fades rapidly unless you're willing to spend the energy to make it permanent, and in most cases that's too much to be bothered with. Your technology – now _that's_ truly incredible."

Doc smiled. "It's nice to hear someone say that. Outside of Marty and a few of my more regular customers, most people around here consider me some sort of crackpot."

Clara scowled. "Idiots." She took his hand. "Trust me on this, Emmett. You're someone special."

Doc felt a pleasant thrill at her touch. He looked into her eyes. "So are you, Clara. You know, I've never met a woman like you before."

"I never, ever met a man like you before," Clara replied, almost in a whisper.

They remained looking into each other eyes for a moment, silent. Then, slowly, they leaned in, and their lips met. A warm glow settled over the scientist as they kissed. _Great Scott. This has to be the most wonderful night of my life._

Naturally, a little niggling worry popped up just then to ruin it. Doc suddenly found himself wondering what time it was. Annoyed, he opened his eyes, intending to quickly check the hour and then lose himself again in the kiss. _Let's see,_ he thought, glancing up at the castle clock tower in front of him, _it's–_

He froze. _What – is that right?_ He hurriedly broke the kiss and checked his pocketwatch. "Oh no! Damn, damn damn!"

"What is it?" Clara asked, looking rather put out that her kiss had been interrupted.

Doc gave her an almost frightened look. "Clara – it's 11:57 P.M."

Clara stared at him. "What?" She turned to look at the clock tower. "Oh my God!"

"I thought you were keeping track of the time!" Doc said, hurriedly getting to his feet.

"You're too distracting!" Clara shot back. "Oh dear, we have to find Marty right away! Come on!" They raced back into the castle.

"Oh, wow."

Marty marveled at the huge fountain Jennifer had taken him to see. The stone was cut to resemble the castle, with water jetting from the turrets high into the air and falling into an enormous round pool below. "That's incredible," he told Jennifer. "How long did it take to build?"

"The better part of a year," Jennifer said, leading him to the edge of the pool. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"

"Yeah." Marty looked over at Jennifer. The moonlight reflecting off the water made her dress shimmer and her eyes sparkle. He grinned. "Looks a lot better with you next to it, though."

Jennifer blushed beneath her mask. "Thanks. Though, how would you know?" she added, teasing. "You haven't really seen my face yet."

"A girl like you, I trust to be pretty," Marty said. "And besides, you called me handsome before, and you haven't seen my face either."

"True enough. I guess I trust you too." Jennifer sat down on the rim of the pool. Marty followed suit. "I wasn't looking forward to this party earlier," she suddenly admitted.

Marty blinked, a bit thrown by the subject change. "Huh? Why not?"

"It was my father's idea, you see," Jennifer explained, trailing her fingers through the water. "He's getting desperate for me to pick a husband. He arranged this ball so a bunch of princes could come over and try and woo me. I went along with it to keep him happy."

"Oh, so that's the deal with all the princes. . . ." Marty remembered the times Jennifer had been called away to dance with someone else. "But why does your dad want you to get married?" he asked, trying to put down a stab of jealousy. I mean, you're the same age as me, right? 17? Isn't that kinda – soon?"

Jennifer nodded. "That's what I thought. It's just that, by some arcane law on the books, I become queen at the age of 18. Dad will probably still be running things, but according to tradition, I'm going to be the official ruler. Dad thinks I should have a king by that time." She sighed. "Thing is, I always wanted to marry for love. And none of these princes. . . ." She waved her hand, as if hoping to pluck the right words out of the air. "Well, most of them are nice enough, they're just – stiff. There's no spark. I can see a few of them as friends, but none as my husband."

Marty nodded, feeling his jealousy evaporate. "I see. Guess your dad won't be too happy, then."

Jennifer suddenly smiled at him. "Well – I don't know about _that_."

Marty's eyes widened. _Buh – wait a minute – she isn't – is she?_ "Jennifer?" he finally said, his voice a little higher than normal.

Jennifer blushed and looked away. "I – I like you, Marty," she said softly. "I like you a lot. And – and when I look at you – I can see a future for us. Happily ever after. You're – you're just amazing."

Marty stared at her, not sure how to feel. On the one hand, he was elated. Jennifer loved him! Loved _him_! And he was almost positive he loved her back. Sure, he hadn't known her long, but – he got what she was saying about seeing a future for them. When he looked at her, he could see them staying together, getting married and raising a family. The very idea gave him a happy thrill.

On the other hand – this was supposed to be a one-night-only deal. Back home, he was still at the mercy of the Tannens. How could he and Jennifer get together when he was technically a nobody?

Jennifer looked at him nervously. "Are you okay? I haven't been too forward, have I?"

"Oh, no, no," Marty said, shaking himself out of his fractured thoughts. "You just caught me by surprise." He smiled at her. "I like you too. _Really_ like you, I mean."

Jennifer beamed. "I'm glad."

Looking at her smiling face, Marty suddenly felt kind of guilty. Here was a girl he adored and who adored him back, and she barely knew anything about him. And a lot of what she did know was lies. It didn't seem right. "Look, Jennifer," he said slowly, "I hate to tell you this, but – I kinda lied to get in here. I didn't think I'd be accepted if I said who I really was."

Jennifer frowned, looking puzzled. "But the ball was open invitation. Anyone could come."

"Yeah, I know, but all these fancy people were coming, and – I'm really just a nobody."

"Who cares?" Jennifer said, putting her hands on her hips. "I'd like you just as much if you told me you were a – a coal heaver!"

Marty couldn't help a smile. "I'll remember that when I'm a coal heaver." He turned serious again. "This is a really complicated situation here, Jennifer. I don't know how to explain it to you."

Jennifer shushed him. "We can figure it out later. Right now-" she leaned in close to him "– I just want to enjoy myself."

That sounded like a good enough plan for Marty. He banished his worried thoughts and leaned in, closing his eyes. His lips brushed against Jennifer's.

And then, out of nowhere, he felt someone grab him and pull him away. "Sorry, Marty, but we've got to go!" Doc said, dragging him along.

"Hey!" Marty yelled, struggling. "What gives?"

"We have to leave!" Clara said, glancing back at him. "Right now!"

"Bullshit! It's not midnight yet!"

"No, it's one minute of," Doc said, consulting his pocket watch. "Well, one minute and fifteen seconds, to be precise. . . ."

Marty's blood turned to ice. "Huh?"

"It caught us by surprise too," Clara admitted, grimacing.

"But – but – Jennifer!"

"Marty! What's going on?" Jennifer demanded, running after them as best she could in her dress.

"We're very sorry, princess, but we must be on our way!" Doc called over his shoulder.

"But – can't you leave him? What's so special about midnight?"

The group burst back into the ballroom. "I'll go get Bill and the carriage ready," Clara said, flying for the outside doors. "You find George!"

"We're on it!" Marty said. He started scanning the ballroom, looking for white jackets. "George? George, we gotta go!"

"George, where are you?" Doc called.

"He's in the bathroom," Lorraine said, coming up to them with a frown. "What do you mean, you have to go? The party isn't over yet."

"For us it is," Doc said. "We're very sorry, but-"

BONG!

The first stroke of midnight reverberated throughout the room. Marty and Doc looked at each other in horror. "Oh, shit. . .GEORGE!"

BONG!

George finally appeared across the room. "What's going on?" he asked as Doc and Marty raced toward him. "What's the bell?"

"Midnight! We have to leave!" Marty said, shoving him toward the door.

BONG!

"What – No! Hang on! I have to ask Clara something!" George protested, dragging his feet.

"George, if we're not out of here by the last stroke of midnight, we could have a potential catastrophe on our hands!" Doc said. "We don't have time!"

BONG!

"But-" George looked desperately back at a stunned Lorraine. "This is important. . . ."

"So is this!"

Jennifer finally caught up to them, grabbing Marty's hand as he followed his friends. "Marty, please!" she said, tone almost begging. "Why are you leaving?"

BONG!

Marty hesitated. He knew he had to go right now – he could feel the spells on his clothes starting to unravel already – but leaving Jennifer like this. . . . He pulled her close and pressed a quick kiss on her lips. "I'm really sorry," he said regretfully, releasing her and racing for the doors.

BONG!

Only to collide with someone coming inside. The two went down in a heap in the doorway. "Oh! Oh, I'm so sorry," the other person said, trying to untangle himself from Marty.

"It's okay, my fault," Marty said hurriedly. He vaguely recognized the guy as the thin, pale fellow who'd spoken up for Clara. "Sorry."

BONG!

"Marty! Hurry up!" Clara yelled from her position on the carriage.

"Coming!" Marty finally managed to get himself free of the other fellow. He felt something tug on his left foot as he did, but he pulled it loose and ran for the carriage, leaping on. "Damn it, sorry guys. . . ."

BONG!

"Never mind that now – let's get out of here, Bill!" Doc yelled, holding onto a still-squirming George.

"Righto!" Bill slapped the reins, and the horses took off at a gallop for the gates.

"Wait!" The man from the party started running after them. "You forgot your-"

BONG!

"Skip it!" Marty yelled back at him. "Keep it, whatever!"

"But-"

"Seriously! I don't care!"

"Marty!" Jennifer raced to the doors.

"George!" Lorraine appeared too, looking near tears.

BONG!

"Damn, we're never going to make it," Doc muttered as they raced down the road.

"Oh no?" Clara pointed her wand directly in front of the horses and screwed up her eyes, muttering to herself. There was a brilliant flash of purple –

BONG!

Then they were racing up the path to Marty's house. Marty looked around, sighing with relief. "Oh man, that was close. Good one, Clar – AHH!"

Marty tumbled to the ground as the spells finally broke apart entirely, transforming the carriage abruptly back to a pumpkin. Doc and Clara landed beside him, now back in their regular clothes. "Oof!"

"Everyone all right?" Clara asked, propping herself up with an elbow.

"I think so – Bill? George?" Marty asked, looking around.

"Squeak, squeak!"

A familiar little black mouse climbed up onto Marty's knee. Marty patted his head. "Glad to see none of us landed on you, buddy." George rubbed up against his finger, squeaking his agreement. "What about Bill, though?"

"I think he took off that way," Doc said, pointing out a swiftly-moving green shape heading for the garden. "Probably had enough of us for one night."

"Poor guy." Marty looked as the six rats started gnawing on the pumpkin. "Shit, that was too close. . . ." He turned and gave Doc and Clara a dirty look. "What happened to keeping track of the time, guys?"

Doc and Clara blushed, looking contrite. "I'm afraid we became too focused on our own pleasure to worry about such things," Doc admitted. "I don't blame you for being angry, Marty. I'm sorry."

"Me too," Clara said. "I really didn't mean to forget and force you to leave Jennifer like that."

Marty sighed. "Yeah, I know you didn't. And even with that, it was a great night out." He smiled. "Thanks."

Clara smiled back. "You're quite welcome. Again, I'm sorry about Jennifer. I'll make it up to you."

"It's okay," Marty said with a deep sigh. "Not like I could have seen her again anyway." George squeaked sympathetically and nuzzled his knee.

Doc patted the teen's shoulder. "You never know what the future will hold. Maybe you'll see her again someday."

Marty nodded, though his face was skeptical. "I guess." He looked around the grounds. "Okay, we gotta get rid of that pumpkin and get Doc out of here before the Tannens show up. And Christ, my foot's cold! What-"

He paused as he looked down at his feet. The left one was bare, while the right one – the right one was still clad in the magical white shoe Clara had conjured up for him. "What the hell?" Marty said, feeling it to make sure he wasn't seeing things. "Clara, how come these didn't change back?"

Clara looked, frowning. "Well, that's odd. Something must have disrupted the spell." She glared briefly at her wand. "But I can't imagine-"

Her frown suddenly deepened. "Wait a minute. Where's the other one?"

Marty blinked. "The other one?" He chewed his lip as he remembered his mad rush out of the castle. He'd sprinted across the ballroom, crashed into that other guy, then – then he'd felt that tug on his foot as he got up. . . . The teen went white. "Holy shit! I think I left it at the palace!"


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

November 1st

The Royal Palace

10:32 A.M.

"Frogs!"

Jennifer looked up, startled. "What?"

"You should order every pond in the kingdom emptied of frogs," Lorraine said matter-of-factly. "That's what witches always turn princes into. According to the stories, anyway."

Jennifer shook her head, smiling. "I doubt Marty is a frog, Lorraine."

"You never know," Lorraine said. "It would explain why he left in such a rush last night. He was changing back, and he didn't want you to see him like that."

"So what about the rest of them?" Jennifer challenged. "Are you saying they were _all_ frogs?"

"Maybe," Lorraine replied, though now she looked rather unsure. "I'd be willing to give it a go, at any rate. Just in case one of them was the right one. Like Marty. Or – or George," she added, looking at her feet.

Jennifer reached over and put an arm around her lady-in-waiting. "I've never seen you like this over a boy. You're really smitten, aren't you?"

"George is different from all the others," Lorraine said, looking dreamy. "I knew it from the second I saw him. He just seemed so adorable – like a little lost puppy. And then, when he shoved that other boy off me and kissed me. . . ." She sighed. "He was wonderful."

Jennifer nodded, looking sadly at the shoe sitting in her lap. "I know how you feel. At least you got to see his real face."

Lorraine reached over and patted Jennifer's back. "Well, how were you supposed to know he'd have to run precisely at midnight? I didn't like the way they dragged George away from me, either."

"Yeah. . . ." Jennifer turned the shoe over a few times. "Why midnight?" she demanded of no one in particular. "Why right after I told Marty how I felt?"

"I'm telling you, magic's involved for sure," Lorraine replied. "And if I were you, I'd start kissing frogs."

There was a knock at the door. "Princess? Are you in?"

"Yes," Jennifer said, getting to her feet. Lorraine followed suit. "Come in, Hulderbrand."

The door opened, and Hulderbrand, the Head Magician of the Court, entered, followed by King Robert. "We've finished our analysis," Hulderbrand said, bowing.

"Oh, good! What's the report?"

"Well, it's definitely fae magic," Hulderbrand said. "Some fairy created or transformed that shoe for especially for your 'Marty.' It appears that the spell was supposed to be temporary, but something disrupted the magic while it was attempting to dissipate. I'm almost certain that's due to him losing just one shoe here and retaining the mate. What we do know is that the spell is now permanent – our own transformative efforts always resulted in it reverting back to that form."

"I see," said Jennifer thoughtfully. "You know what this sounds like to me? Fairy godmother."

"That's our conclusion as well," Hulderbrand nodded.

"A fairy godmother? Those are rare," Lorraine said, eyes wide. Then she grinned. "Should make it easy to find him."

"Not necessarily," Hulderbrand said, holding up a finger. "Fairy godmothers are obligated to keep themselves hidden from the general populace. We can't simply look for a young man with a fairy following him around, unfortunately. And there's always the chance our mystery guest simply pleased some random fairy before attending the ball."

"Damn," Jennifer muttered, toying with the shoe. "So, basically, he could be anyone and anywhere."

King Robert came to her side. "You really like this Marty, don't you?" he said softly.

Jennifer blushed. "He – he was amazing," she admitted. "I know I only met him just last night, but-" she looked at her feet for a moment, then back up at her father. "I think he might be the one, Dad. I really do."

"When you meet the right person, you just know," Lorraine agreed. "And I want to find him too. Because, when we find him, we find George. And I really want to find George."

King Robert nodded firmly. "Then we'll just have to find these two boys any way that we can. I don't intend to let my little girl's chance at true love slip through our fingers!"

Jennifer smiled. "Thanks, Dad." Then she frowned, glancing back down at the shoe. "But how do we start?"

Hulderbrand coughed. "Actually, your Majesties, I believe I have an idea. . . ."

November 3rd

Hill Valley

12:47 P.M.

"Whoohoo!"

Marty grinned as he swooped into the town square on his newly-enchanted "hoverboard." "This is great, Clara! Thanks!"

"You're very welcome," Clara chuckled, amused at her charge's antics. "Though I really didn't have any problems with just teleporting you here if you wanted."

"This is better," Marty said, hopping off the floating plank of wood and grinning at it. "I haven't had any fun like that in a while. Too bad I can't ride it in front of anybody."

"Well, we can't have the Tannens suspecting anything," Clara reminded him.

"I know, I know. Still. . . ." He looked around the square. "I'd better get going on my errands, I guess." He grinned over at Clara. "Hey, why don't you take the board over to show Doc? I'm sure he'd get one hell of a kick out of it."

Clara blushed and smiled. "I suppose he would," she admitted, running her fingers along the plank. "You don't mind?"

"Of course not," Marty said. He playfully nudged her. "I bet you've been dying to ditch me and go see him anyway."

Clara gently whapped him over the head with her wand. "That's not talk befitting a young gentleman," she scolded.

"Yeah, well, I'm a servant these days – they're allowed to be as crude as they like." Marty dodged another whap on the head. "I'll catch up to you two in a few minutes."

"All right," Clara said. "I'll see you shortly." She grabbed the board and vanished. Chuckling to himself, Marty headed for the grocery.

As he walked, he noticed a large crowd, made up almost entirely of men, standing around one of the light poles. Marty frowned, puzzled. _What is it this time? They can't be throwing another party already. . . ._

A young man about Marty's age with blond hair broke away from the crowd and came up to him, grinning widely. "Hey, buddy, do you think you've got a shot?"

"A shot? At shot at what?" Marty asked.

"The princess! Didn't you see the notice?" The man pointed at the pole. "I think she's nuts, but – man, to be the one who fits!"

The guy departed, whistling. Completely baffled, Marty went over and pushed his way through the crowd to see the notice. It looked much like the one for the ball, done in elegant gold script. It took a few moments, but eventually the teen got close enough to properly read it:

_ROYAL PROCLAMATION_

_Her Royal Highness the Princess Jennifer will be touring the country in search of the owner of a shoe left at the Palace during the masquerade ball. Every eligible young man in every town is invited to try on this shoe. The man whose foot fits the shoe shall receive the princess's hand in marriage._

_(Signed)_

_His Majesty Robert James Parker_

Marty's jaw dropped. _What – she – she's – Holy _shit_!_ Without even thinking about it, he tore the notice from the pole, ignoring the angry yells from the rest of the crowd, and raced to Doc's shop. "Doc! Clara! You gotta see this!"

A very startled Doc and Clara looked up from their conversation over the hoverboard. "Marty? What in the name of Sir Isaac H. Newton is it?" Doc asked, worried.

Marty thrust the paper into Doc's hands. The scientist's eyes went wide as he read it. "Great Scott! She's-"

"Looking for me!" Marty finished. "She's trying to find me!"

"What?" Clara took the notice. "Oh, golly. . . ."

Doc grinned at Marty. "Looks like you left quite the impression on her, kid."

"Yeah!" Marty agreed, smiling back. "She loves me, Doc! She wants to marry me! After one night, she wants to marry me!" His smile faded. "And – and I'll probably never see her again."

Doc frowned. "What are you talking about? She's sure to come to Hill Valley eventually – sooner rather than later, I'd say, given our relative closeness to the palace. And if she's willing to marry you after one night together, I don't think you have to worry about her finding someone else on the way."

"Yes I do. Doc, she never saw my face. All she has to go on is that shoe. And-" Marty sighed. "I know I'm one of the shortest guys around, but somebody's gotta share my shoe size."

Doc grimace. "Oh. I didn't think of that. That's a good point." He twisted his mouth thoughtfully. "She does know what you sound like. Perhaps she'll hold out for a similar voice as well."

"Maybe." Marty sat down, looking depressed. "But I'm sure there'll be someone who sounds like me on the way too. Damn it. . .I love her too. . . ." Doc patted him comfortingly on the back.

Clara, however, was smirking. "You know, you're getting depressed for no reason at all."

Marty and Doc both gave her an incredulous look. "What are you talking about?"

"You seem to have forgotten that I made that shoe with magic."

"So?" Marty said. "Somebody else's foot could still fit inside."

Clara shook her head. "Actually, no, it couldn't." She sat down next to the confused boys. "Magic can be very possessive, especially coming from a fairy godmother. I tailored those shoes to fit your feet exactly, so the spell on them recognizes only you as the owner. It won't accept anyone else. Even if someone has the exact same size feet as you, Marty, the shoe wouldn't fit them. The spell would automatically reject them."

Marty stared at her for a long moment. Then, slowly, he started to smile again. "You mean – that shoe will fit _only_ me?"

Clara nodded. "And let's not forget – you're the only one with the match."

Marty grabbed Clara in a tight hug. "All right! Oh man, now I'm _glad_ you kept us late! This is great!"

Doc joined in the hug, laughing. "I'll agree with that. I haven't seen you this happy in years." He grinned at Clara. "Excellent work, dear."

"Well, I _am_ a fairy," Clara said playfully. "Seriously, I'm glad everything worked out the way it did."

"Hell yeah!" Marty broke away from the hug, looking excited. "I wonder when she's coming here? Man, I can't wait to see what she really looks like."

Doc looked at the notice. "I'm wondering how she's going about this. Does she have everyone line up in a common area, or does she visit each house individually?" His frown returned. "If it's the latter, the Tannens could pose a problem."

"I doubt it, Doc. Even they're not dumb enough to go against a direct royal order." Marty grinned evilly and rubbed his hands together. "I can't wait to see their faces when the shoe fits me. Probably blow their puny little minds."

"Not to mention you'll finally be able to seek vengeance for your mother," Doc agreed.

"Definitely! And see my aunt and uncle again, and all my cousins. . . ." Marty's smile suddenly faltered a bit. "Though I guess that means I won't be seeing much of you anymore."

Doc nodded, looking a little sad himself. "Yes, I suppose." He forced his smile back onto his face. "But it'll be all right, kid. My door's always open if you want to visit. Hell, a few months living in the palace, and you'll probably forget all about me."

"Bullshit," Marty said forcefully. "I'll never forget you, Doc. You're my best friend." He smirked. "Besides, aren't you and Clara getting kind of close?"

Doc fidgeted while Clara turned pink. "Well, you're not the only one who can fall in love at first sight," Clara retorted.

"No, no, I think it's great! Just Doc never seemed like the romantic type to me." Marty playfully nudged him. "Maybe we could have a double wedding."

That got Doc blushing too. "We'll see," he said as Clara giggled. "Though I have to admit, I'm not adverse to the idea."

"Good, because I might make it a royal order."

There was a knock at the. "Hey, kid, can we have that proclamation back already?" a voice complained. "It's intended for the whole town, you know! You can't keep ripping them down!"

"Sorry, got excited," Marty said, grabbing the notice and handing it to the red-haired man standing outside. He took it and walked away, rolling his eyes and muttering something about "teenagers today. . . ." "Guess I'd better get going on my chores here," Marty added, looking back at Doc and Clara. "I'll stop back later to say goodbye." He started to leave, then paused and looked back. "Oh, hey, Clara – you know anything about mice?"

Clara frowned. "Not particularly. Why?"

"Well, George has been looking kind of – I dunno – _mopey_ lately. I'm starting to worry he's getting sick." Marty chewed his lower lip a bit, worried. "You're _sure_ getting turned into a human didn't hurt him?"

"It shouldn't have. But then again, my wand does seem to be acting up a little. . . . I'll give him a thorough look-over once we get home."

"Good, thanks." Marty left the blacksmith shop and headed down the street. He saw more boys crowding around the light pole as the red-haired man pinned the notice back up. _Sorry, guys,_ he thought with a grin. _The girl is mine!_

November 3rd

Hill Valley

1:46 P.M.

Buford was waiting for Marty as he returned from his trip. "Damn it, runt, I'm getting sick of you dragging your feet! When I want you to do something, I want it done _now_!"

"Sorry, Buford," Marty said, smiling. "Big news in the village. Lots of stuff going on."

"I don't care what the hell was going on!" Buford pointed at the stables. "You're gonna go muck those out, and if they ain't done in an hour, you ain't eating tonight!"

"Sure thing, sir," Marty said brightly, handing him the groceries. He headed for the stables, singing to himself. "And that's when you feel the power of love. . . ."

"And stop that-"

Buford blinked a few times as something registered in his brain. Had Marty just called him "sir?" Marty had never called him "sir" before. Not once in two years. Buford stared at the teen, confused. The kid was also a lot happier than usual – happier than Buford had ever seen him, in fact. _What the hell happened here?_

"Dad!"

Biff and Griff came running up to him, looking excited. "Did you hear the news? The princess is going around looking for this butthead who lost his shoe at the ball!" Biff said, a bit out of breath. "She's gonna marry the guy who fits it!"

"We can rig that for us, right Dad?" Griff grinned.

Buford didn't reply right away, frowning. "Huh. Everybody know about this?"

"Well, yeah! There's a notice in the town square." Biff frowned back. "Why? What is it?"

Buford pointed toward the stables. "The runt's in there, _singing_," he said. "And acting way too happy. He called me 'sir!'"

Biff snorted. "What, you think he thinks he's got a chance in hell? He wasn't even at that party!"

Griff, however, looked more suspicious. "So why's he so happy? He's gotta know he doesn't have a chance."

"Maybe he's happy about something else?"

"What else has he got to be happy about?"

Buford glared at the stables. "That kid's up to something," he muttered. "And I saw that blacksmith at the party. Wouldn't put it past him to try and help the kid. Damn gutter trash. . . . I don't want him trying on that shoe."

Griff raised an eyebrow. "Uh, how do we stop him? The royal family may be a bunch of lobos and bojos, but if they found out we kept somebody from trying it on, we're gonna see the dungeon up close and personal."

"Let's just lock him up somewhere and leave him to rot," Biff suggested.

Buford suddenly grinned, yellow teeth gleaming. "Naw. I got a _better_ idea."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

November 11th

Hill Valley

11:51 P.M.

"_So, Emmett," Clara purred, leaning over him, "what do you think the best part of being a fairy is?"_

"_I couldn't imagine," Doc replied, smiling._

"_Well, let me tell you. We can–_

THUNK!

Doc jolted awake, blinking rapidly as his mind tried to make sense out of what was reality and what was not. He scowled as he realized Clara was part of the latter category. "Damn it. . .Einstein, was that you?" he called, rolling over.

Loud barking answered him. Doc sighed deeply. Much as he loved his dog, sometimes Einy could be a real –

Einstein abruptly yelped and whined in pain. Doc's mood instantly went from annoyed to concerned – and a little bit frightened. "Einstein?" He groped for the matches he kept by his bedside lamp – and the shotgun he kept under his bed, just in case. "Are you all right, boy?"

There was no answering bark. Doc found the gun and pulled it close to him, still trying to locate the matches. He had a nasty hunch about who was trying to break into his house, but he couldn't attempt defensive action without light. _Damn it, I thought I had them right here!_

A shadow suddenly darted across the room. Doc swung the gun up, but something grabbed the back of his head first. There was a loud crack as something very heavy smashed against his skull.

Then everything went black.

November 12th

Hill Valley

1:21 P.M.

_All right! Today's the big day!_

Marty excitedly peered under a loose stone in the hearth. His shoe was stuffed underneath – a little dirty and crinkled now, but otherwise none the worse for wear. "Clara, mind cleaning it up a bit?" he asked his fairy godmother over his shoulder. "Just so they'll really look like a matched set?"

"Not at all." Clara wiped the dirt away with a wave. "Oh, this is exciting. Third town on the list! I thought it would take them longer to get here."

"Me too," Marty admitted, carefully replacing the rock. "It feels – surreal. In just a few minutes, I'm gonna be reunited with the girl of my dreams. And then, this whole nightmare's gonna be over."

Something squeaked at him from the top of the fireplace. Marty looked up and frowned. "Jesus, George, how many times do I have to tell you to stay in my pocket?" He retrieved the mouse from its perch. "You've never been this jumpy before."

"He's probably not used to being in the house," Clara said. "And the Tannens do have those dogs."

"Yeah, but they tied them up in the kitchen to keep them from mauling anybody important." Marty patted George's head. "You're safe, buddy. Really."

George squeaked and wriggled in his grip. "George, you gotta settle down," Marty said firmly. "If I'm gonna sneak you into the palace, you need to be quiet. I don't want to leave you behind with the Tannens."

Clara patted George's head too. "Just overexcited, I'm sure. It's hard not to be."

Marty grinned. "You've got that right."

The sound of footsteps coming their way caught their attention. Clara vanished as Marty hastily got George back into his pocket. Moments later, the door opened to reveal Buford, dressed in his Sunday best and looking smug. "All right, cinderboy," he greeted Marty. "The royals are gonna be here in a bit. You keep your head down, and don't make any trouble."

"Right," Marty nodded, trying hard not to smile.

"And don't you get anywhere near the royals. They don't need your stink on them. You stay back in the servants quarters, cleaning!"

Now Marty couldn't hold back a small grin. "Well, I'll do my best, but-"

"No buts! Just stay in the background til they're done and gone!"

"What happens when they ask me to try on the shoe?"

Buford snorted. "What makes you think you're trying on that shoe?"

Marty raised an eyebrow. "Uh, royal order? The proclamation clearly said every eligible young man. I'm one of those under all this dirt."

"No you ain't. You ain't getting anywhere near that shoe."

Marty glared, getting frustrated. "Listen, I know you're hoping one of your kids win, but I deserve a chance! Besides, how are you gonna stop me, anyway?"

Buford grinned coldly. "Boys!"

Biff and Griff came in, dragging someone between them. Marty went white. "DOC!"

Doc looked at Marty with wide, fearful eyes. The scientist was tied hand and foot, and had a length of cloth forced between his teeth for a gag. A nasty lump throbbed on his head. Marty tried to run to him, but was caught by Buford before he could take more than a few steps. "Now listen here, runt!" Buford said, looking almost gleeful. "You even _think_ of trying on that shoe, and I'll slit his throat from ear to ear!"

"No! Leave him alone!" Marty cried, struggling against Buford's grip.

"You behave, and we will." Buford smirked. "Maybe. Now come on, we-"

The butler suddenly entered the room, looking a bit out of breath. "Sirs, the royal carriage just pulled up," he reported.

"Already?" Buford checked his watch. "Shit, they're early!"

"What do we do with them?" Biff asked, nodding at Doc and Marty nervously.

"Stuff the blacksmith in there," Buford said, pointing to a nearby closet. "Cinderboy here can sit by the fireplace."

Biff and Griff nodded, dragging Doc over to the closet. Doc and Marty shared one last frightened look before the door was shut. _Shit shit shit! Come on, Clara, do something!_ Marty thought desperately.

_I _can't_!_ Her voice suddenly broke into his thoughts, startling him momentarily. _I wish I could, but _they'd_ notice and then we'd _really_ be in trouble!_

_But – damn it, we have to help him!_ Marty bit his lip. _He's – he's the only family I've got anymore._

_I know! Oh, God, Emmett. . . ._

There was a knock at the front door. The butler dashed back out to greet the guests at Buford's nod. Buford snatched up a handful of soot, threw it in Marty's face, then sat him firmly on the hearth. "Now sit there and don't move a muscle," he said firmly. "Otherwise-" He yanked his finger across his throat.

Marty nodded, spitting and blinking the soot out of his eyes. Buford turned toward the door as Biff and Griff took up guard positions by the closet.

Moments later, the butler reentered the room. "May I present the Princess Jennifer and her entourage," he said, bowing low.

The royal party entered the room. Marty sucked in his breath as he saw Jennifer in the middle of all her guards and attendants. She looked even more beautiful now that he could see her full face. For a moment, he was tempted to say something – then Biff caught his eye and put his hand over his dagger. Marty lowered his head, feeling miserable. _Damn it._

Buford bowed, grinning. "How d'ya do, milady?"

Jennifer frowned at him. "Well. It's good to see you've learned some manners. How do you do?"

"Mighty fine. Have you got the shoe?"

Jennifer nodded as one of the servants held it up, resting on a cushion. "I must admit, I'm confused as to why you asked us here," she said. "I know none of _you_ will fit. You left before midnight."

"Worth a try," Biff said, leering. "For all you know, we snuck back in."

"Bullshit," Lorraine, standing by Jennifer's side, said flatly. "If you're trying to rig this in your favor, it won't work."

"Hey, your princess said anyone who wanted to could try on that shoe."

"And I intend to honor that promise," Jennifer said, though not without a bit of reluctance. "Let's get this over with."

"Who's first?" the man holding the shoe asked.

"Me!" Griff said, beating Biff to the punch. His brother gave him a dirty look.

"All right, come here please."

Griff went over and sat in one of the armchairs, removing his left shoe. The shoe-holder knelt down and tried to pull the magical shoe over the young man's foot. It became immediately obvious that Griff's foot wouldn't fit – in fact, Marty could have sworn the opening had shrunk upon touching Griff's flesh. Despite himself, Marty smiled. _Guess Clara was right – either that or the spell hates him as much as I do._

After a full minute of fruitless tugging, Griff finally admitted defeat. He stood up and sulkily replaced his own shoe. "All right, let's have the other brother," Jennifer said, sighing.

Biff changed places with Griff. He smirked at the princess and her lady-in-waiting as he took off his shoe. "Nice to see you again, Miss Baines."

"I'm afraid to say the feeling is not mutual," Lorraine replied icily, eyes narrowed.

"Aw, come on, we had a fun time!"

"If you call pawing at my breasts and ruining a brand new dress fun. Which you might, granted."

"Excuse me, it's _my_ hand you're asking for," Jennifer interjected, frowning at Biff.

"Yeah, I know," Biff said easily. "But if we ever get tired of each other-"

"I'm tired of you already," Jennifer snapped. "And I will cut out my own tongue if that shoe fits you."

The holder of the shoe tried fruitlessly to pull it onto Biff's foot. It resisted just as much as it had with Griff. "It appears your tongue is safe, your Majesty," the man finally said, giving up.

"Wait a minute!" Biff said as the man started to stand. He yanked out his dagger. "I'm willing to work with you here!"

Marty's jaw dropped. Was Biff seriously offering to carve up his own foot just to fit that shoe? "Holy shit!"

Buford shot him a look, but the damage was done. Lorraine, surprised, looked in Marty's direction. "Oh, hello! We didn't see you there," she said, smiling. "Who are you?"

"That's just the cinderboy," Buford said hastily. "He ain't nobody."

Jennifer turned to look. Her eyes widened as she saw Marty. Marty felt a nervous thrill – did she somehow recognize him? "Well, does 'nobody' want to try on the shoe?"

"Look, I'm offering to make some drastic changes here!" Biff said, scowling.

"Oh hush," Lorraine told him brusquely. "Though if you want to cripple yourself, be my guest."

"I – ah – dunno," Marty said, eyes flicking to the closet.

Jennifer smiled encouragingly. "Anyone can try, really. And you look about the right height, which is more than I can say for most of the competitors."

"Your Majesty doesn't want to marry a cinderboy," Buford interrupted, giving Marty a significant glare. "Look at him! He's filthy!"

The shoe-holder looked Buford up and down critically. "If your Baronship will excuse me. . . ."

"Hey, I had a bath just this morning! Shut it."

"We've considered people in much worse shape than him," Jennifer said, frowning at Buford. "A little dirt doesn't bother me." She smiled again at Marty. "Come on, give it a go."

"I – I – well, it all seems like a lot of work," Marty said lamely, rubbing the back of his head.

Jennifer blinked. "All it is is trying on a shoe."

"I mean the kingship. I don't know anything about ruling. What if I cause some sort of uprising?"

"We wouldn't let you stumble into it blindly. We'd have tutors for you. And I'd certainly help you."

"Still. . . ." Marty's eyes flicked back to the closet. Griff noticed and glowered at him significantly.

Lorraine shared a puzzled look with the other attendants. "Weird – usually they're falling all over themselves to try it on," she muttered. She arched an eyebrow. "Perhaps he doesn't like girls?"

"I like girls!" Marty snapped. "It's just-"

"Yes?" Jennifer asked, eyeing him.

Marty grimaced, fumbling for some sort of excuse. He wanted so badly to go over there and try on the shoe. But if Doc died because of him, he'd never be able to live with himself. _Damn it! What do I do?_ he thought, beginning to sweat.

Then, out of nowhere, all hell broke loose.

Marty hadn't noticed him sneaking out of his pocket again. George quickly scurried down the teen's leg and raced across the floor. He didn't understand all that was happening, but he knew that his friends were in trouble. And he was going to help any way that he could.

He paused a moment at the door to look back at Lorraine. He still had enough of his human brain to feel a pang. He was so close to her, and yet so far. _Why did we have leave right at midnight? If only I'd gotten a chance to talk to Clara. . . ._

Well, there was no time to mope over missed opportunities. George scurried out into the hall and looked around. It had been ages since he'd been inside the house. He didn't have a clue where anything was.

Luckily, he didn't have to rely on memory or guesswork. Sniffing around, he located the scent he wanted and followed it.

About a minute later, he came upon his quarry. Buford's dogs were tied up in the kitchen, alternately gnawing on bones and fighting over them. Seeing them, George's courage wavered. What was he thinking, seeking out these vicious mutts? If anything went wrong, he'd end up dead!

But – if he didn't do this, that nice Doc person might end up dead. And Marty wouldn't ever get away from the Tannens. And –

And he'd probably never see Lorraine again.

George stiffened his mousy spine. Hell with that – he had to try this plan, at least. He snuck into the room, keeping to the shadows until he'd reached the ropes holding the dogs to the counter. They were old and frayed already, which made his job a lot easier. He gnawed on them for a few minutes, weakening them even further. Then, taking a deep breath, he raced out into the open.

Right in front of the dogs.

They reacted instantly, lunging and snapping at the mouse. George dodged their jaws and headed for the door at a dead run. The dogs followed, howling. The ropes stretched, held for a moment, then snapped. The group exploded out of the kitchen, unheeding of the destruction they caused. George led them down the hall and toward the living room, dodging and weaving like crazy, heard pounding even faster than usual. He hoped he didn't run out of adrenaline before they got there. Otherwise –

Luckily, at their pace, it took them almost no time at all to reach the room. George darted inside, the dogs hot on his heels. Hopefully they would cause enough of a distraction for Clara to free Doc. _And then, maybe SHE COULD SAVE ME!_

"Oh my God!"

"Be careful!"

"Holy shit!"

"How'd those stupid mutts get loose?"

Marty leapt back as the trio of dogs plowed through the room, growling and snapping at everything in reach. Jennifer's servants immediately surrounded her, pulling daggers for extra protection. "Damn weak ropes!" Buford snarled, lunging at the dogs. "Get over here! Griff, help me! Heel! Sit!"

The dogs were heedless of his commands, intent on chasing something. With a jolt of fear, Marty felt in his pocket. _Shit! George, why couldn't you stay put?_ he thought, looking at the floor. _It's bad enough I have to worry about Doc –_

Right on cue, there was a faint flash of purple light, and the closet door burst open. Doc toppled out, looking rather startled. Marty raced to his friend's side, dodging a snap from one of the dogs. "Doc! Jesus, are you all right?" he asked, pulling out the gag.

"I've been better," Doc rasped.

"What on earth is going on here?" Jennifer demanded, peeking between her attendants. "Where did those dogs come from?"

Lorraine, however had spotted what the dogs were chasing. "They're trying to kill that poor mouse!" Muscling past a surprised guard, she reached out and scooped up the little creature as he passed. The dogs immediately went for her, but she quickly retreated back behind the line of attendants.

In the confusion, Biff noticed that the shoe had been left sitting on one of the chairs. Seeing everyone else was otherwise occupied, he grabbed it and slashed it to ribbons with his dagger. "That's for not fitting me!" he hissed.

Finally, Buford and Griff got the dogs under control. "Sorry," Griff panted as they forced the animals back out into the hall. "Fregging lobos. . . ."

Jennifer shook her head tiredly. "And I thought visiting that cheesemaker was the worst. . . . Lorraine, are you all right?"

"Yes," Lorraine assured her, clutching George in her hands. "Poor little mouse," she added, stroking him gently. George squeaked in contentment.

"Who is that and why was he in your closet?" one of Jennifer's retinue demanded, as a couple of others went over to help Marty get Doc to his feet.

The Tannens seemed at a loss for words. "Ask him," they said in unison, pointing at each other.

"I'm Emmett Brown," Doc introduced himself, nodding gratefully as the attendants undid his bonds. "I'm the local blacksmith."

Jennifer looked over at Marty, understanding starting to dawn in her eyes. "Is he a friend of yours, then? Did they kidnap him to keep you from trying on the sh-"

Her eyes fell on the ruined shoe. She shrieked. "Oh! Oh no!"

The servants gasped and looked at each other nervously. "Your Majesty, we – we do apologize-" one began.

Jennifer ignored him, turning furious eyes onto the Tannens. "Which one of you did it?" she demanded, voice shrill. "Which one of you? I bet you released those dogs on purpose, just so – I tell you right now, I'm not marrying any of you!" She glared around the room. "I could throw you _all_ in the dungeon for this!"

"We'll flush out which one was the perpetrator, your Majesty!" the attendant quickly said. "You can be sure of that!"

Marty, however, had a different idea. He looked around. Doc was with Jennifer's retinue, George safely in Lorraine's hands. And no matter what, the Tannens were in serious trouble. There was no reason to hide anymore. He smiled and stood up by the hearth. "Excuse me, your Majesty," he said, leaning over the loose rock. "Would you be interested in a replacement shoe?"

Biff gave him a nasty look. "Replacement? What the hell are you talking abo. . . ."

Biff's voice died as Marty pulled the matching shoe from its hiding spot. The teen kicked off his own worn-out footwear. Then, before everyone's astonished eyes, he slid the shoe onto his foot.

It was a perfect fit. Marty smiled over at the princess. "Hey, Jennifer."

"Marty!" Jennifer flew across the room and embraced him. "Oh, I thought it was you – er, it _is_ Marty, right?" she asked, pulling back a bit to look him in the face.

"Yeah," Marty said, blushing. "I only fudged my last name. Sorry I lied to you, but those jackasses threatened to break my arm if I showed up there."

"I don't doubt it," Jennifer nodded, shooting the Tannens an ugly look. "Oh, it's good to see you again."

"Same here. And hey," he added with a smirk, "at least I didn't turn out to be a coal heaver."

Jennifer giggled. "There's that. What _is_ your real last name?"

"McFly."

"McFly?" repeated the attendant, looking shocked. "Oh my God! Your Majesty, this is the missing Marquis!"

"What, really?"

"Hang on a second!" Buford protested. "_I'm_ the Marquis! I married his mama!"

"And murdered her," Marty said viciously. "Stabbed her to death. Then he killed Marshall Strickland so I couldn't go to him for help. Let me guess, he told you guys I ran off."

"That _was_ the report he gave," the man nodded. "We've been wondering what happened to you for a couple of years now." He looked suspiciously over at Doc. "What do you have to do with all this?"

"He's my friend," Marty said firmly. "Closest thing I have to family any more."

"I recognize him from the ball too," Jennifer said. "It's hard to mistake that hair." Doc blushed faintly. "Mr. Von Braun, I take it?"

"Brown these days, but yes," Doc said with a bow. "And you were correct in your earlier assumption, your Majesty – the Tannens kidnapped me to prevent Marty from trying on the shoe. I doubt they could have stopped the kid any other way. He's been walking on air ever since he realized he was the one."

Jennifer beamed. "Well then, I'm really glad those dogs got loose."

Buford had gradually been turning from red to purple as they talked. "DAMN YOU, RUNT!" he suddenly roared, lunging at Marty. "DAMN YOU TO HELL!"

Marty darted out of the enraged baron's grasp, pulling Jennifer with him. Two of the attendants promptly tackled Buford and wrestled him to the ground. The others quickly restrained Biff and Griff before they could come to their father's aid. "You certainly have a lot to answer for," Jennifer informed Buford coldly. "I'm sure my father will be _very_ interested in what's been going on around here."

"It's –it's not fair!" Biff protested, squirming against his captors.

"Life isn't fair," Marty replied, grinning.

"Remove these people," Jennifer told her retinue. "But be careful of those dogs. We'll be out in a moment." The attendants nodded and forcibly escorted the Tannens outside. Jennifer looked over at Doc. "We'll have to stop at your blacksmith shop before we head back."

Doc smiled. "Oh, thank you, but I couldn't impose on your Majesty for a ride home."

"Hmm? Oh, no, Mr. Brown, you're coming with us," Jennifer clarified. "If you really are the closest thing Marty has to family, you really ought to."

"Hell yes," Marty agreed.

Doc blinked a few times, caught off guard. "I – all right," he said, nodding. "I do need to check that my dog's okay, and pack some clothes. . . ."

"And get your wife, of course."

"Wife?"

Jennifer raised an eyebrow. "Yes. Clara?"

"Oh! She's not my wife."

"That's a long story," Marty said as Jennifer blinked. "We'll tell you all about it on the way to the palace."

"Okay. . . ." Jennifer said slowly.

Lorraine looked around. "What about George?" she asked excitedly. "Is he a footman or stablehand here? I want to make sure he comes along too!"

Marty suddenly felt really awkward. "Oh jeez. . .um, Lorraine-"

"Or is he someone else's footman you borrowed?" Lorraine cut him off, grinning at him.

"No." Marty took a deep breath. "You see, about George-"

"Yes?"

"You're holding him."

Lorraine's smile faded. "What?"

"He's the mouse," Doc confirmed, looking a bit sad.

Lorraine looked down at the black mouse still clutched in her hands. "George?" she asked in a near-whisper.

George squeaked and rubbed up against her thumb. Lorraine looked back up, her face a mixture of disbelief and sadness. "But – but I saw – he was _human_ -"

"We'll explain it all on the ride over," Marty promised. "Come on, Doc, let's blow this popsicle stand."


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

November 12th

Hill Valley

3:43 P.M.

The carriage pulled up to the main entrance of the palace. As the group got out, Lorraine lingered at the bottom of the steps. "Aren't you coming, Lorraine?" Jennifer asked.

Lorraine shook her head, absently stroking George. "I'll catch up in a minute."

Marty gave her a hopeful half-smile. "She's sure to show up soon, now that I've told you all about it. It'll be okay."

Lorraine nodded, watching the rest of the group ascend the staircase. Then she wandered off into one of the adjacent gardens.

She found a place to sit on a bench and looked morosely down at George, perched on her hand. "A mouse," she mumbled. "You're not supposed to be a different species."

George squeaked mournfully. "Oh, I know it's not your fault. But – when you kissed me that night, I _knew_ I'd be spending the rest of my life with you. It's disappointing to think it might be with you as my _pet_."

George nuzzled her thumb. Lorraine sighed. "I just wish I could be sure this fairy godmother of Marty's is going to show up. In all the fairy tales I've read, they just seem to disappear once they've done their job and their charge is happily married. And would she even be willing to do a favor for me? I'm not family, and – I'm no one special."

George squeaked again, nibbling her fingers. Lorraine patted him. "Yeah, you think I'm special, don't you? And I think you're special. If only. . .oh, my poor Georgie. . . ."

Suddenly, an idea hit her. "Wait a minute. . . ." She looked hopefully at George. "I don't know if it'll work, but – well, it's worth a shot. I suggested it to Jennifer back when I thought you lot were frog princes. Why should it make a difference if you're a mouse?" She located a fountain, dipped her fingers into it, and washed George's head and whiskers. The mouse squirmed in protest. "Sorry, George," Lorraine apologized, drying him off gently. "I just don't want to get sick. You _are_ a mouse." She took a deep breath. "Though, hopefully, not for much longer." With that, she leaned forward, closed her eyes, and kissed him.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, out of nowhere, Lorraine felt a gust of warm wind swirl around her. Something pulled her hand away at the same time as something flashed brilliant white, bright enough to see through her closed eyelids.

And then – there were _human_ lips against her own.

Lorraine's eyes popped open. Sitting in front of her was a very human George. He grinned, looking delighted. "Lorraine!"

"George!" They embraced, laughing joyfully. "Oh, I'm so glad to see you! To see you changed back! I – I-"

Lorraine paused as she realized something. George didn't seem to be wearing a shirt. IN fact – as she let her fingers probe a little further – George didn't seem to be wearing _anything at all_. "George!"

George turned brilliant red as it hit him too. "Ack! I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he said hurriedly, trying to cover himself with his hands.

Lorraine giggled nervously. "Oh, they never mention _this_ in the fairy tales."

"I suspect other fairies' wands work properly!"

Startled, Lorraine and George looked up to see Clara standing over them, glaring at the wand clutched in her hand. She gave the pair a frustrated smile. "At least it turned you fully human, George. Given the way it's been acting up lately, I was a bit worried you might still have a tail."

"Nope, all person," George said, checking.

Lorraine smiled. "You must be Clara. It's a pleasure to meet you." She glanced back at George. "Thank you so much."

"Oh, I was happy to do it," Clara said, flicking her wand and giving George a shirt and a pair of pants. "That's why you were so gloomy before, wasn't it?" she added to George.

George nodded, looking just a touch embarrassed. "I wanted to ask you the night of the dance, but we had to leave in such a rush, I didn't get time."

"I'm sorry, George. I really do wish I'd kept track of the time better."

"It's okay. I guess everything worked out for the best." He rubbed the back of his head. "Though it would have been nice not having to deal with those dogs."

"You _are_ all right, aren't you?" Lorraine asked, looking concerned.

"Yeah, I'm fine. It's my own fault anyway – it was the only thing I could think of to stop the Tannens. . . ."

Clara's eyes widened. "What – George, did you set those dogs free on _purpose_?"

George nodded, blushing. "Somebody needed to do something, and you couldn't because of your whole 'fairy law' thing. . . ."

"Oh, George," Lorraine sighed, hugging him tightly. "You're a real hero."

"Indeed," Clara agreed, gently ruffling his hair. "Come on, everybody's waiting for you."

The rest of the group was standing in the entrance hall when they arrived, talking with King Robert and his advisors. The Tannens were standing sullenly to the side, surrounded by armed guards. Buford was the first to notice Clara. "Ain't you that filly Brown was dancing with?"

Clara glared at him. "I am _not_ a filly."

Marty turned at the familiar voice. "Clara! There you are! Hey, listen, Lor-"

"Hi Marty," George said, coming in with Lorraine on his arm.

"Uh – okay then," Marty said, looking a bit discombobulated. "Good to see you again, George."

"Good to be like this again."

King Robert gave Clara an appraising look. "So, you're the fairy godmother Marty mentioned."

"That would be me," Clara confirmed, curtseying. "Clara Clayton at your service, your Majesty."

"_You're_ a fairy godmother?" Griff said disbelievingly.

"Yes," Clara said coolly. "And you're lucky I didn't do a lot worse to your father than kicking his shin at the ball last month." She glanced at Marty, confused. "You're all right with them knowing now?"

"Sure – what the hell can they do about it?" Marty said with a wicked grin.

Doc wrapped Clara in a hug as Einstein licked her toes. "It's good to see you again, my dear."

"Same here, Emmett. I was so worried about you before." She kissed him. "Are you all right? I wish I could have come along sooner, but I was back home making absolutely sure those three hadn't seen anything and that I wasn't about to be decommissioned."

"Fine," Doc assured her. "Just a bit of a lingering headache, and I'm sure that'll disappear soon."

"Good." Clara grinned and reached down to pet Einstein. "Good to see you too, boy. Glad the Tannens didn't hurt you either."

"Shut up in a storage cupboard, poor boy," Doc said, scritching Einstein behind the ears. "Luckily he's okay otherwise."

"Thank God. Wouldn't put it past them to kill a dog."

One of the advisors gave a polite cough. "If I may interrupt, we should start planning for the marriage of the Marquis and the Princess. We have quite a lot to go over."

"We can do it over dinner," King Robert decided. "A bit early in the day for it, but I'm sure you're all hungry."

"Starving," Marty admitted, rubbing his stomach as it rumbled. "I never got much to eat at home."

"I could eat something," George agreed, looking quite eager.

"All right, I'll alert the chefs that-"

"Hey! What about us?" Griff demanded.

King Robert glared at him. "_You_ can sit in a holding cell for now. I'm assured you all have done things worthy of a long, _long_ stay in the dungeons. At the very _least_."

"He's – he's setting us up!" Biff claimed, pointing at Marty. "It's a trick! A trap!"

Marty rolled his eyes. "You guys just don't give up, do you?"

"No, we don't," Biff growled. He suddenly lunged for Marty.

The guards grabbed him, one holding a sword to his throat. "That's enough out of you, Tannen," he said firmly.

Biff glared at him before turning back to Marty. "What's the matter, McFly? Too chicken to fight your own battles?"

"Hey, I remember punching you pretty good back when your asshole of a father first married my mom," Marty said, flexing his fist. "Want a repeat performance?"

"You ain't won yet!" Buford said, raising his finger.

Marty arched an eyebrow. "Huh. I've got my old title back, I'm engaged to the princess, I don't have to worry about my best friend's life anymore, and I'm probably going to see you without a head sometime in the near future. Sure feels like winning to me."

"Take them away," King Robert commanded with a wave. "They're starting to annoy me." The Tannens were led away, still protesting their innocence. "Now then, what would everyone like to eat?"

November 12th

Hill Valley

5:08 P.M.

It was shortly after dinner that it happened. Clara, Doc, Marty, and Jennifer were talking in one of the many gardens when a little bird made of paper soared up to them. It landed on Clara's lap and unfolded itself. "What is it?" Marty asked as Clara looked it over.

"It's from the Fairy High Council," Clara said, frowning. "They want to see me right away."

"What? I thought you settled that!" Marty shook his head with a scowl. "They're not taking this away from me! I'm finally happy here!" Jennifer nodded, clinging to his arm protectively.

"Don't worry, Marty – it says it's for a minor infraction," Clara said. "It's probably about me changing George for Lorraine before you gave the official say-so."

"Oh." Marty frowned. "Still, I don't want these guys deciding they need to 'fix' anything. Mind if I come with you when you go?"

"Of course not."

"Could I come too?" Doc asked, looking intrigued. "I'd love to see what your home looks like."

Clara pursed her lips thoughtfully. "I think it would be okay," she said after a moment's consideration. "Though, Marty, you'd better say it's all right too, just in case."

"Yeah, it's fine with me if he comes," Marty said loudly, glancing over his shoulder as if he expected the council to be standing there.

Clara nodded, tucking the note into her pocket. "Then we should be off. The council doesn't like to be kept waiting."

"Will this take very long?" Jennifer asked, concerned. "It's just – we do have a lot of stuff to plan."

"It really shouldn't," Clara assured her. "We should be back within an hour."

Marty kissed Jennifer. "We'll be back soon. I promise."

"All right. Don't let any of them bully you."

"Never," he grinned.

"All set?" Clara asked. Marty nodded. "Stand close to me, then. You know my wand's been acting a little tricky lately – I don't want to take chances."

Marty and Doc bunched up close to Clara, giving Jennifer a final wave. Clara swirled the wand around them. A deep purple mist trailed out of the tip, temporarily obscuring their view and making their skin tingle. Then it disappeared, leaving them standing in the middle of a large, dark arena.

Doc and Marty looked around, frowning. "Guess they're going for intimidating, huh?" Marty muttered.

"**Oftentimes we need to be.**"

The boys jumped. The voice seemed to come from everywhere at once. They looked around again, but didn't see anyone besides themselves and Clara. "Er – if we may ask, who's talking?" Doc asked.

"**My name is Marcander, Night Fairy and Prime Elder,**" the voice responded. "**Clara, why are these humans here?**"

"They insisted on coming – to help speak on my behalf," Clara said. "This is my charge, Marty, and his friend Emmett."

"Hi," Marty said with a cautious wave.

"Hello," Doc nodded. "It's a honor to be here, really."

A darker shadow seemed to detach from the others, one that looked vaguely but not quite humanoid. "**I suppose it is good that you are here,**" it admitted. "**Now, Clara, we are pleased with your work, but there is something we need to address.**"

"If this is about George, I was going to ask her to turn him human anyway," Marty said quickly. "She just beat me to it."

"**We know that, Martin. That's not really a problem, given you'd already told your intended fiancee and her friend everything. Our issue is with Clara being a little too forthcoming with information concerning the Fae.**"

Clara blinked. "Pardon?"

The shadow seemed to nod at Doc. "**You've been telling Dr. Brown quite a bit about your work. Even allowing him to examine a couple of your spells.**"

"It's mere curiosity," Doc defended himself. "I wouldn't use any of that information against any of you. I swear."

"**Other humans have said as much, and never meant it,**" Marcander replied in a bored tone. "**By law, your memories of the Fae should be wiped clean.**"

The three blanched. "No, please!" Clara said hurriedly. "You don't understand! I-" She swallowed and lowered her voice a bit. "I love him."

"And I love her," Doc said, taking Clara's hand. "The reason I asked was really because I wanted to know more about her."

"**You love her?**" Marcander repeated, a bit disbelievingly. "**She is Fae. You are not.**"

"That doesn't matter to me," Doc said firmly. "The time we've spent together – I've never met a woman like her. It's like nothing made sense before she came into my life."

"I can vouch for that," Marty said, trying not to look nervous. He didn't want anyone messing with his best friend's brain. "You should see them together. It really was love at first sight, just like me and Jennifer or Lorraine and George. You can't split them up."

"She's everything to me," Doc nodded, voice low. "One in a million. No, one in a billion. No, one in a googolplex! I – I don't want to live my life not knowing her. Even if you do wipe my memory, I'll know something's missing."

"Please," Clara repeated, holding onto Doc's hand tightly.

Marcander was silent for a long moment. Then he asked softly, "**You genuinely love her?**"

"With all my heart," Doc swore, holding up a hand.

"**Then perhaps we can settle this another way.**" Marcander turned to a puzzled-looking Marty. "**Martin –**

**How would you feel about having a fairy **_**godfather**_**?**"


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

_One Year Later. . . ._

July 15th

The Royal Palace

7:29 A.M.

"Marty. Marty, time to get up."

Marty vaguely heard a voice trying to pull him away from his dreams. He pushed his head deeper into the pillow, trying to drown it out. "Unghhh. . . ."

"Marty, come on. You can't be late today. Up and at 'em."

"No," Marty mumbled. He wasn't ready to get up yet. His bed was nice and soft, and he'd been running around like crazy these past few days. He deserved some rest.

"Marty! You have to get up!"

"Go 'way." Marty clutched at his pillow. "I'm tired."

There was a frustrated sigh from the voice. "Okay, I gave you your chance. . . ."

There was a flash of orange light – then, suddenly, gravity reversed itself. Marty yelped as he fell out of bed. Blinking and looking around, he saw Doc standing beside him, looking smug. He groaned and rubbed his head. "What were they thinking when they gave you a wand?"

"If I remember correctly, you were quite enthused with the prospect of me becoming your fairy godfather," Doc retorted.

"That was before I knew you were evil," Marty muttered, looking up at his bed, now stuck to the ceiling.

"I gave you plenty of chances to get up on your own. And you gave me specific instructions not to let you oversleep today, remember?"

"What? What's so special about-"

Marty's brain chose that moment to click back into gear. "Holy shit! The wedding!"

He scrambled to his feet, suddenly wide awake. "Oh, jeez, Jennifer would have _killed_ me if I was late today! What time is it?" he demanded of a very amused-looking Doc. "And wipe that smirk off your face."

"It's only 7:30 A.M.," Doc assured him. "Plenty of time for you to get ready. I think Clara's getting your bath prepared now."

"Okay, good." Marty grabbed his robe and headed for the bathroom. "You mind getting my bed together?" Glancing at it, he added, "And, uh, back on the floor?"

"I don't know," Doc said with a mischievous smile. "I think it looks nice up there."

"Doc!"

"All right, all right." Doc brought the bed back down to earth with a bump. Marty shook his head and left to get cleaned up.

Clara was indeed in the bathroom, waiting for him by the tub. "I take it Emmett had to resort to drastic measures to get you up?" she greeted him.

Marty blushed. "Well, come on, you know I'm not a morning person," he defended himself.

"True, but it _is_ your wedding day."

"Tell that to a soft pillow and a warm blanket." Marty shook his head. "Thanks for getting my bath ready."

"You're welcome. I'll leave you to it – I want to make sure there's no rain clouds moving in, then Jennifer insisted I help her with her dress."

Marty grinned. "I can't wait to finally _see_ it. She's been bragging about it for ages. Though, really, as long as she showed up, I wouldn't care if she was wearing a burlap sack."

"You may not care, but she definitely does," Clara said. "I'll see you in a little while."

"Right. Have fun with the other girls." Marty gave her a parting wave, then disrobed and slipped into the bath. "Ahhh. . . ."

After a relaxing soak, he hopped out and hit a switch on the wall. A set of hot air blowers in the wall turned on, drying him within a couple of minutes. "Great invention, Doc," Marty said to himself, switching the system off and grabbing his robe.

He returned to his room to see Doc and George chatting together as Doc's orange magic cleaned up the room. George was already dressed in his white-jacketed tuxedo. "Hey, guys," Marty said. "Looking good, George."

George grinned. "Thanks. I just hope I don't spill anything on it," he said, picking at the jacket.

"Clara's a wonder at getting out stains," Doc told him. "I wouldn't worry."

"You gonna get dressed soon, Doc?" Marty asked, noting his friend's casual attire.

"Suppose I should," Doc said, also looking at his clothing. He flicked his wand, transforming it into an outfit much like he'd worn to the ball. "How's this?"

"Great."

"You ever do anything normally anymore?" George asked with a grin.

"Not if I can help it," Doc grinned back.

"Mind giving me a hand then?" Marty asked.

"Not at all." Doc pointed the wand at Marty and gave it a wave. A suit in blue and red appeared underneath the bathrobe. "What do you think?"

"Looks good to me," George said approvingly.

"Me too," Marty said, taking off the robe. "Though maybe we oughta get a third opinion. Just to be safe."

"I'll get Lorraine." George went over to the door and stuck his head out. "Lorry! Can you come here for a minute?"

Lorraine appeared, decked out in her favorite pink dress. "Hi George," she said, giving him a quick kiss. "What do you need?"

"A woman's opinion on the suit," George explained, motioning to Marty.

Lorraine looked it over and smiled. "Oh, that looks really good on you, Marty." She frowned momentarily, thoughtful. "Though maybe the vest could be a lighter red."

"Done," Doc said, making the change. "See, I _do_ have fashion sense," he added playfully.

"For everyone but yourself," Lorraine retorted. Then she noticed something else. "Oh, hey, you forgot the shoes."

Marty grinned and went over to his closet. "No he didn't." He pulled out a familiar pair of white high-tops. "Like I'd get married in anything but these."

Lorraine giggled. "Good point."

Another castle servant poked his head around the door. "Master Martin, your aunt and uncle have arrived. Shall I show them up?"

"Oh, yeah! Please!" Marty pulled on his shoes as the boy disappeared. "Jesus, I haven't seen Uncle Dave and Aunt Linda in forever!"

"It hasn't been that long," Doc said. "Only about six months from their last visit."

"What with all the wedding planning, it feels like years." He chuckled. "Dave is gonna be over the moon about me being the next king now."

Sure enough, Dave was grinning from ear to ear as he entered the room. "Damn, and I thought it was fantastic when Seamus became the Marquis of Hill Valley! Talk about moving up in the world, eh Marty?"

"It's a lot nicer than where I was about a year ago," Marty agreed.

Linda hugged him. "We're sorry again about leaving you with those jackasses. I seriously thought you really had run away to get away from them."

"I was tempted to, a couple of times," Marty admitted. Then he looked around and grinned. "But all in all, I'm glad I stuck it out."

"Yeah, really!" Dave noticed Doc and George and held out a hand. "Hey, you two. How are things going?"

"Fine," George said. "We're really looking forward to the wedding."

"Same here."

"Marty's been telling us about your exploits, Doc. Are you really trying to invent new spells?" Linda asked, eyeing the scientist's wand.

"Yeah. We'd show you where all the fires were, but he's pretty good at cleaning up after himself," Marty deadpanned.

"Don't make me put your bed _back_ on the ceiling, kid."

Dave chuckled. "Well then, you and Clara doing anything special for this? You know, besides standing up in the wedding party."

"We're pretty much staying behind the scenes here," Doc said. "Keeping flowers fresh, the sun shining – things like that."

"And fixing this shoe of mine," Marty added, holding up his foot. "You wouldn't believe Biff had gotten to it, would you?"

"Not at all. Oh, hey, speaking of the bastard, when we got here, I saw him in the stables," Dave commented, turning back to his nephew. "What was he doing there? I thought they were in the dungeons for life after their father got himself beheaded."

"Eh, Robert decided they could work off part of their sentence," Marty said with a shrug. "Better than just having them sit in a cell while we feed them, I guess."

"Oh." Dave smirked. "Ever go down there and order _them_ around for a change?"

"Every so often," Marty admitted, grinning evilly.

Doc checked his pocket watch. "It's just after eight o'clock – the rest of the guests will be arriving soon."

"Better go down and start saying hello 50 million times," Marty nodded.

"I ought to get back to Jennifer myself," Lorraine said. "She'll need help with her makeup." She gave George another kiss. "I'll see you downstairs later."

"See ya," George said, watching her leave wistfully. "Boy, I can't wait until we get married in a couple of months."

"Trust me, George, with everything you have to do, the time will just fly by. Come on, everybody, we can talk on the way," Marty said, heading for the door himself. "What have you guys been up to during all this?"

The rest of the morning passed by in a flurry of activity. Marty greeted what felt like an innumerable number of guests, helped make a final check on the menu, and supervised setting up the reception in the ballroom. There was so much to do, he wondered for a moment if they'd ever actually get to the wedding.

But, eventually, noon arrived, and with it the ceremony. Everyone headed outside to the garden with the castle fountain. The guests took their seats while Marty took his place at the arch with the pastor. Doc and George stood next to him, while Clara and Lorraine stood on the other side. Looking around, Marty swallowed, trying to calm the sudden influx of butterflies in his stomach. _Well, this is it. Married life. Sheesh, I hope I'm ready. . . ._

The band started up the wedding march. Everyone turned to look as Robert and Jennifer appeared at the end of the aisle. Marty's breath caught in his throat. Jennifer looked like an angel, her long white dress shimmering in the sunlight and her veil fluttering out behind her. The butterflies vanished. _Oh yeah. I'm ready._

He smiled widely as she made her way up to him. "You look gorgeous," he said quietly, taking her hands once she reached the altar.

"Thanks. You look really handsome yourself." Jennifer squeezed his hands lightly. "Oh, Marty, I'm so glad I found you."

"Same here, Jennifer. Same here."

The ceremony was short and sweet – not that Marty heard much of it, too busy looking into his bride's eyes. He just barely remembered to say "I do." Finally, the pastor announced, "By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride."

Marty was only too happy to do that. The guests enthusiastically cheered the couple as they kissed. Robert stood up proudly. "My subjects, may I present your new King and Queen – Martin and Jennifer McFly!"

There was another, even louder cheer. Marty blushed slightly and waved. "Thanks, everybody. Now, who's up for a party?"

The reception was the most elaborate affair any of them had ever seen. There was a full orchestra, tables piled high with practically ever dish the royal chefs could make, and a wedding cake so tall Marty wasn't sure how they had managed to ice it. He and Jennifer spent most of their time passing between the guests' tables, thanking them for coming and accepting a few last-minute wedding gifts. "Whew! I think your dad went a little overboard," Marty admitted, as they collapsed at the head table for a rest before the dances started.

"I _am_ his only child," Jennifer said, fanning herself. "Humor him."

"I'm trying. There's just so many people! I don't even know half of them."

"You will," Jennifer said with a smirk. "Once they start complaining."

"Ah jeez. At least I got to see my relatives again." Marty grinned over at one table in particular. "And the guy who kind of started it all. Thank God I crashed into him, huh?"

"Definitely," Jennifer agreed, looking at the pair. She frowned thoughtfully. "Though I don't think that girl was his date when he attended."

"How do you know?"

"They were the ones who spoke up for Clara when she was thrown to the ground by Buford. I know they were attending with different people."

Marty grinned. "Yeah, well, maybe ours wasn't the only romance started at that ball. We ought to know true love can hit anywhere."

Jennifer smiled back. "That's true." She raised his glass in a quiet toast. "To Victor Van Dort and Alice Liddell."

Marty did the same. "Lots of luck, you guys."

"So, how is the happy couple?"

Doc and Clara approached them, grinning. "All worn out from all that walking?" Doc continued.

"Getting there," Marty said, sipping his punch. "Have you seen George and Lorraine? We kind of lost track of them after coming in."

"They're at the buffet," Clara reported, motioning toward the couple. "It's a wonder George doesn't weigh as much as a boulder, the way he eats."

"Perhaps he retained the metabolism of a mouse?" Doc pondered.

"I think it's just getting enough to eat for a change," Marty said. "I packed it away myself when we first got here."

"How are you two doing?" Jennifer asked.

"Just fine," Clara said. "We came by to give you our wedding gifts."

"I thought you already got us that 'toaster' thingamabob," Marty said, looking over at the table storing all the boxes.

"Apparently it's also tradition to give a magical gift as well," Doc said, pulling out his wand. He waved it over the couple's heads. "You shall always keep each other's love and devotion, and the devotion of your subjects. Your reign shall be one of the longest and most prosperous this land had ever seen."

Marty grinned. "Now that's a wedding present! Not that I didn't like the toaster, mind. . . ."

"Thanks a lot, Doc," Jennifer nodded.

Clara raised her own wand, then hesitated. "I know what I want to add to that, but – well – when you have children, would you like a boy or a girl first?"

Marty and Jennifer blushed, then looked at each other. "Kids? Wow," Marty murmured. "Wasn't thinking about that. . . .do you care what we have first?"

"Not really," Jennifer said. Looking back at Clara, she suggested with a small shrug, "Maybe twins?"

"As you wish," Clara said, smiling and flourishing her wand. "A boy and a girl – who won't cry a lot."

Marty and Jennifer laughed. "Thanks – especially for that last bit."

"Well, we know who's most likely to get babysitter duty," Doc smirked.

The familiar sounds of the band warming up caught their attention. "Guess it's dance time," Marty said, getting back up. "Hey, Jen, think I could get a turn playing with those guys? Been a while since I had a chance."

"We'll see," Jennifer grinned. "Come on, Doc, Clara, let's have some fun."

Three hours later, after countless dances, cake, and Marty indeed getting his chance to show off his guitar-playing skills, the reception ended. Marty and Jennifer exited the castle down the main staircase to catch their honeymoon carriage, while the guests stood by and cheered. Marty waved at everyone as they descended, grinning broadly. Today was the best day of his life. He was married to the girl of his dreams, assured of a prosperous rule, and –

And why did his foot feel cold?

Marty looked down at his suddenly-unclad foot, then behind him to see his shoe abandoned a few steps back. He went back and retrieved it admist the laughter of the guests. "Just figures this would happen," he muttered, rejoining a giggling Jennifer.

Doc, Clara, George, and Lorraine were waiting by the carriage for them. "Almost forgot something, huh?" George teased, opening the door.

"Oh, hush, mouse-boy," Marty said, getting in.

"No, I'm glad it happened," George said, following Jennifer inside. "It makes a great ending."

"Huh?"

"George is writing down everything that happened," Lorraine explained, settling herself into a seat. "As a fairy tale."

"Oh, that's interesting," Clara said, smiling at George.

"Get out of town, I didn't know you did anything creative," Marty said with a grin of his own.

"I like to write," George said with a slight blush. "Everybody I've shown it to so far likes it – except for one thing."

"What?" Doc asked, shutting the door after making sure everyone was in.

"Well – I dunno what it is, but they all have trouble believing this sort of thing could happen to a _boy_. I guess everybody expects fairy godmother stories to be about girls." George shrugged. "Sometimes, I still don't get humans."

"Neither do I, frankly," Marty said, shrugging back. "If you want to make me a girl and Jennifer a boy, it doesn't bother me."

"Me either," Jennifer nodded, snuggling up to Marty. "So long as everyone gets their happily ever after."

"Yeah," Marty agreed, kissing her.

George grinned. "Of course there's a happily ever after. Now, about the title –

How does Cinderella sound to you?"

The End


End file.
